


space dementia

by wellwhiskey



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: AU Everyone is Evil, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Sith Obi-Wan, dark etc., dark side au, sith everyone really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellwhiskey/pseuds/wellwhiskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Darth Maul survives the Battle of Theed. Obi-Wan succeeds in his quest for vengeance but fails to escape The Dark Side. Anakin goes along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue I: Coruscant

**Author's Note:**

> im posting this before my hard drive shuffles off its mortal coil and it's lost forever because it only belongs on this website or in hell
> 
> On the eve of The Clone Wars, tensions run high between the political idealists of the Confederacy of Independent systems and the Republic. Meanwhile, hostility is brewing in the outer rim between the crime lords of the powerful Hutt clans, and a deadly pirate syndicate known only as ‘The Ohnaka Gang.’ In the midst of both these conflicts, Sith Lord Obi-Wan Kenobi and his apprentice, Darth Vader, close in on their mysterious rival, Darth Sidious, in their quest to overthrow him and bring balance to the force as the most powerful beings in the galaxy.

_Coruscant – 22 BBY_

Padme Amidala watched as her handmaidens burned. She had dressed simple and somber for the occasion. Instead of a headdress, as she usually wore in her public appearances, her hair was fashioned in a single long braid down her back. Rather than her usual colorful swaths of clothing, she wore a black funeral dress, simply cut, but elaborately beaded.  To emphasize the tragedy of the situation, her outfit was tied together with a black, lace veil, pinned at the top of her braid, which covered the top half of her face.

The transparent material of the veil offered little comfort from the heat of the flames. Padme's eyes stung from the close proximity of the heat. She had a vision of the fabric of her veil somehow melting onto her face, burning them shut forever. Still, she found she couldn't look away. She had insisted on being present for this. Insisted on watching. She always did.

It was a custom of the people of Naboo to burn the body of the deceased within two days of their death, so that their spirit may return to the planet. To home. They were seven, lined in the middle of the large room, parallel to each other. Cordé, Versé, the five Naboo royal guards. Padmé knew each of their names.

_Oh, Cordé._

On her right, Captain Typho stood at attention, his pilot’s helmet tucked under his arm. The solidarity Padme felt between herself and the captain, who had been there on the landing platform this morning, was a small comfort in the face of the swirling dark void - the memories of blood and screams and blaster fire that were dragged anew to the surface of her consciousness, every time she closed her eyes.

But this, she knew, would pass in time. It always did. And she had endured worse. Cordé did her duty.

“My Lady,” her thoughts were interrupted by the soft, sorrowful voice on her left. “Please. You must reconsider my suggestion. I cannot bear the thought of-“

“Then think no more of it, Chancellor.” She snapped in reply, unable to stop herself, her voice habitually taking on the distinct diction of the regal Naboo.

Out of the corner of her eye, Chancellor Palpatine’s mouth compressed into a grim line, concern and annoyance at her stubbornness playing across a creased brow. 

To her right, Captain Typho said nothing. She had already ended this same argument with him, hours before, on the transport away from the supreme chancellor’s office. She would not have it again.

In front of her, its orange glow the only source of light in the dark oval room, Cordé’s funeral pyre crackled. Sparks flew upwards, causing a boy standing across the room to jump. A relative, perhaps. Padmé didn’t recognize him, but for a moment, she was reminded of a different boy, in a different room, standing in the orange glow of a different funeral pyre.

No, she didn’t care for the Chancellor’s offer one bit.

\----

When the ceremony ended, Padmé exited the funeral building in solemn procession with her Naboo guard, and a highly skilled detail assigned to her by the chancellor. The cool night air on the landing platform was a welcome relief from the stifling heat of the crematorium. After saying goodbyes, receiving and offering condolences, she and her guard headed towards a large senate transport bus that would take her away from the Coruscanti funeral building and to her new senatorial apartments. Her guards insisted she take this particular transport, rather than her usual, smaller, open air speeder. It offered extra protection, they'd explained. Along with the standard plasma shield found on most high profile vehicles, the bus came equipped with durasteel casing and blast-proof windows. It was strong enough to withstand a small explosion. It was one of the most secure transports in the city, they'd told her.

She suddenly found she was very tired.

The interior of the transport was lavishly decorated with deep reds and golds. Plush maroon carpet covered the floor. Clusters of cushioned seats replaced the typical front-facing rows found on most public transports. The walls of the ship were inlaid with swirling green and gold patterns that some would call ostentatious. Padme took little notice. She nearly collapsed into a small nest of seats near the back.

To her distaste, the Supreme Chancellor, with his own detail, boarded behind her. Usually, Palpatine’s presence would not be unwelcome. Padmé valued his advice and had frequently sought it. The man was the chancellor of The Republic after all. He was a fellow Naboo, and a friend. But she knew tonight, he had a specific goal in mind, and she had no inclinations to further indulge his concerns for her safety. She wanted to be left alone with her thoughts and her own people, to privately grieve.

“It is in times like these, my lady, when I am reminded of why we do the things we do – to safeguard the people of the republic from these monstrosities who would attempt to harm them.” The Chancellor said in way of greeting. He took the seat opposite Padmé. When she said nothing in reply, he continued, sorrowfully, “It is truly a tragedy.”

 His voice sounded heavy and tired, as tired as Padmé felt. She detected no hint of discord in it. Her earlier grief-driven snap at him in the crematorium had been apparently forgotten.

She felt a stab of guilt. He was only trying to help. Probably, he felt it was his duty to her, as a mentor and a friend. Looking at him now, his very countenance seemed… dimmed. Usually Palpatine radiated with energy. Now, though, the usual spark of mischief was gone from his eyes. He was, she realized, just as grieved by the loss of her people as she was.

“Thank you for your condolences, Chancellor,” she replied softly, unable to hold on to any of the annoyance at him she had felt before. “And thank you for your support. I am truly grateful for your concern.”

 The Chancellor relaxed into his seat, losing some of the stiffness of formality he had been wearing before. It was an indication of the comradery and trust he shared with Padmé. There was a closeness between them, forged over years of a comfortable working relationship and the home world they shared. She was someone he trusted – someone he cared about.

As the transport veered off into the air traffic of Courasant, setting due course for her apartments, the soft interior lights of the transport dimmed, leaving the passengers comfortably in the dark. Palpatine sighed. Lights from the colorful buildings outside their windows cast shadows over his face as their pilot settled into a flylane.

“I confess,” he began, leaning forward to speak to her, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr, as if the assassin could be sitting in the transport alongside them, “I am more troubled by these events than I-” his voice cut off abruptly, “-than I feel I could properly convey. The idea of targeting you is an attack not only against your person, but against our planet. Against myself. Against the very republic.”

“Chancellor,” she tried to keep her voice light, “can this not wait-“

“M’lady, please,” His quiet voice took on a more urgent tone, “I understand what you’ve been through today has left you exhausted, but we may not have another chance to discuss this.”

Padmé let her face betray nothing.

“What do you mean?”

Palpatine seemed to hesitate, for a moment she thought he wasn’t going to respond. When he did, it was with a low voice that bespoke secrecy.

“I wanted to speak about this with you before, senator, but I admit, I hesitated in light of our… former company.”

Padmé frowned, recalling the meeting this morning in the Chancellors office, a mere hour after the attack.

“You mean the Jedi?” What would Palpatine have to say to her that he couldn’t say in front of his Guardians of the Republic?

A great many things, probably.

“I’m afraid so.” Palpatine’s face was grim. “A very strange group, don’t you think? Very strange indeed.”

“No one would disagree,” Padmé said. ‘Strange,’ she thought, was one way of saying it. ‘Untrustworthy,’ was how _she_ preferred to put it, when she was being generous. But she was aware that most people in The Republic didn’t share her cynical view of the Guardians of Peace.

But Palpatine did. It was something they shared, something that had brought them closer through her years in the Senate. She frowned.

“Chancellor, what is all this about?”

“Padmé,” The chancellor leaned forward and clasped one of her slender hands between two of his own. “I believe you’re right." He paused, as if to underscore the gravity of what he was about to say.

"I believe Count Dooku is behind this attack.” He continued in a low murmur, a half-frown playing across his features. “It would seem this Confederacy of Independent Systems is more aggressive than we realized.”

“I don’t understand,” said Padmé, “The Jedi themselves said it wouldn’t be possible for Count Dooku to do something like this.”

 _‘He was a Jedi,’_ had been their exact words.

“M’lady, do you honestly believe that?”

Honestly? Of course not. Through the shock and the grief of the assassination attempt, she hadn’t had the energy to disagree with a room full of Jedi masters, and Palpatine himself, for that matter. Particularly on something based so purely on suspicion. But to hear the Chancellor say he agreed with her now-

Something of her thoughts must’ve shown on her face. Stars, she needed sleep. Palpatine gave her hand a brief squeeze before letting go.

 “I say this privately to you because I don’t wish to insult them, but I believe our friends,” he gave the last word an ironic drawl, “ _the Jedi_ , are rather deluding themselves.” He inclined his head, his voice taking on a cynical note, “Or perhaps, they are forgetting their own . . . history.”

Padmé resisted the urge to drop her head into her hands and massage her temples. Instead, she looked The Chancellor in the eye, ignoring the headache she felt coming on. 

“Chancellor, why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because, if we are correct, and I believe we are, you are in far greater danger than we previously realized. A bounty hunter is one thing, but I fear your current guard would be no match for someone as powerful as Count Dooku-”

She thought he was done, but no, he continued –

“-and I refuse to sit aside and neglect to do everything in my power to prevent the death of one of my most trusted colleagues.” 

Earlier, she would’ve argued. But now, she was simply too tired.

 “What would you have me _do_ , Chancellor?” She hoped he could tell she was annoyed. Distantly, she wondered why she was humoring him like this.

“As I said before, a Jedi guard,” He looked at her, pleadingly, “Although they don’t believe our theory yet, if Count Dooku does indeed want you dead, it would take another Jedi to stop him. Without someone of his equal skill, I fear your,” he lowered his voice even more, “ _current guards_ wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Without moving, Padmé cast her eyes around the transport, and saw, with some relief, that none of the said guards were within earshot to hear the insult, however accurate it was.

Unable to help herself, however, she asked, “Do you really think it’s likely that Dooku would fly to Couruscant and try to murder me personally?”

 “Of course, it is unlikely,” Palpatine admitted, “but I would sleep better with the knowledge of your extra protection. We don’t know what he is capable of. There is too much at stake to not consider every option.”

In response, she gave Palpatine a cold look. He knew better than anyone her grievances with the Jedi Order, and even privately shared them. A small, bitter part of her thought, how _dare_ he? What had occurred on Naboo all those years ago had not been forgotten.

Nor what came after.

“Senator, if I may, I understand better than most the shortcomings of the Jedi order. But your mistrust in this instance is unwarranted. I fear you are making a mistake by judging the majority on only one unfortunate circumstance.”

“Two, circumstances, Chancellor, if what we believe about Count Dooku is true.”

“Dooku is an extreme political idealist,” Palpatine said, the icy tenor of his voice indicating how little he thought of the man. “A ruthless traitor, indeed, and one who has crossed an unthinkable line, but he is a far cry from,” his mouth twisted, “utter insanity.”

Padmé looked away. She found herself unable to agree.

Regarding the Jedi, however, she had heard similar arguments before, and she knew, deep down, that she was being irrational. She tried to think of a coherent argument, one that would sound reasonable.

“Regardless, Chancellor,” She began, “I simply cannot see myself comfortable in the situation you’re suggesting.”

Palpatine fixed her with a disapproving, grandfatherly look. Padme suddenly felt very young.

“Senator, this stubbornness is unreasonable. I would think a minor loss of comfort would be a small price to pay for something as precious as your life.” 

There was a short silence. Padmé opened her mouth, and closed it, slightly stung. Palpatine looked surprised at his own words.

He sat back in his seat a fraction.

“Forgive me, my lady.” He passed a hand over his worn face, “It’s only that I am tired of attending funerals. The thought of losing you….” He shook his head, “you are too important to this senate, Padmé. I do not wish to imagine the state it would be reduced to without you.”

This made her bite back the immediate, inappropriate, retort of, ‘ _My life is mine to do with as I please, thank you,_ ’ and consider his words.

Padmé wasn’t afraid for herself, not really. Death, she supposed, would come sooner or later. If doing her duty for the republic, for democracy, meant dying for it, then she would do so gladly. But the words of her mentor spun around her head, clearing her dark thoughts. She would be able to serve the republic better while actually alive. 

“Do it for me my lady, please.” His voice went quiet, “I assure you, the Jedi we choose will be beyond trustworthy. Believe me, if there were any other way to ensure your safety, I would not hesitate to seek it out. But I fear this is our only option.”

They were nearing the senatorial apartments, she realized. The pilot was slowing down. She could turn him down, step off the transport, sleep . . . and he would ask her again tomorrow. Insist. She didn’t want this disagreement to linger between them, and she had a nagging suspicion Palpatine wasn’t going to let it go. This truly was important to him, she realized – her safety.

It didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry, Chancellor.” She said, with finality. “I cannot.”

Palpatine was silent for a long time. He leaned back in his seat, melting into the shadows of the transport.

“Padme,” he said, voice mournful as if she’s already died, “you are making a _mistake_.”

“My people and the senate guards will be more than enough security against the scum Dooku will send after me.” She said, dropping the formal Naboo diction, the curtness in her tone entirely intended. “I will not work with the Jedi.” She steeled her voice. “I refuse.”

Palpatine sighed.

“It’s this _scum_ that I’m worried about.” He said. “He has bounty hunters at his disposal, yes.” He seemed to hesitate, “but we don’t know _who else_ is working for Dooku.”

It was a testament to their shared history and understanding of one another that she knew exactly who he implied.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said, too tired now for anything other than bluntness, “is dead.”

Palpatine’s next words left his mouth delicately.

“That is the . . . popular opinion. However,” he paused, and his tone darkened, “I worry.”

Anger flared in Padme’s chest at The Chancellor for bringing this up at all. Now, he was just being ridiculous. This was unusual for someone as pragmatic as Palpatine. Bringing _ghosts_ into the equation.

She kept her mouth clamped shut, afraid of what she would say to the Chancellor if she opened it. Something she would regret, probably. But The Chancellor wasn’t finished.

“And if the boy is still with him-“

“Chancellor, please.” She cut him off, unable to help herself any longer. “This is paranoia.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead, and good riddance. The boy he’d dragged down with him was another story, one that Padme would never forgive anyone for, including herself.

“Very well.” Palpatine simply sounded sad. “If you insist, my lady. I cannot force this upon you.”

Padme felt the anger leave her chest at his words. He was only trying to help, she knew.

“I am sorry, Chancellor, but I have total faith in my current guards.”

“My lady, allow me to send you more. In the very least.”

Padme considered this. A second compromise, it seemed.

“Very well.” She said, and the transport slowed to a halt in front of her landing pad. There was movement around the two of them as her guards and handmaidens made to leave the transport. She didn’t hear them.  “I agree.”

* * *

 

 

After assuring her they had assessed the entire building (twice) and would patrol every entrance, all night, the majority of Padme’s guard, both from the Senate and Naboo, left to take their posts outside her apartments.

One of the new senate guards, dressed from head to toe in a royal blue robe, who had greeted her upon her return from the crematorium, lingered.

“My lady,” he said in an adolescent croak, then cleared his throat and continued in a deeper voice, “Senator, if there’s, uh, anything you need, I’ve been stationed _directly_ outside.”

He sounded young, she thought distantly. Too young to be a member of an elite security force. But then, she supposed, she had been young when she was elected queen. Perhaps with the growing Separatist threat, and with the Jedi already stretched thin, they were recruiting younger.

It was a disturbing thought.

 The guard’s face was almost entirely obscured by his crested helmet, but she could vaguely make out youthful, handsome features through the opening in the front. He was watching her intently.

She desperately wanted him to leave.

“Thank you, guard. That will be all.” She said.

“Yes, my lady,” The young man swept into a gratuitous, too-low bow, forgetting about the long assault rifle that was strapped to his back. The sudden shift in weight caused it to slide forward on his body. He straightened up quickly catch it.

“Uh,” He chucked nervously and corrected the gun. Clearing his throat again, he said, “My lady,” then nodded, this time, before turning on his heel and exiting the room, quickly.

Padmé watched him leave, frowning. Perhaps Palpatine had been more right about needing a Jedi guard than she’d thought. She hoped the rest of the newcomers weren’t so, well, _that_.

She found she had too much to think about, however, to dwell on it for long.

Uncharacteristically, she sent her handmaidens out of her bedroom, deigning to take down the simple braid in her hair herself.

Once this was done, and she had, with some difficulty, changed from the stiff, heavy, black dress into a nightgown, she walked over to her bed and slid open the top drawer of her nightstand. Her favorite sleek metal pistol was right where she had left it, settled atop a datapad.

Padmé slid the weapon under the pillow next to her head, and waved a hand to dim the lights.

Despite her exhaustion, it wasn’t until sometime later, hand resting atop the warm metal of the gun, that she finally began to drift into sleep.


	2. Prologue II: Florrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> obi-wan's not really dead but he sometimes wishes he was

 

 _"Peace is a lie, there is only passion._  
_Through passion, I gain strength._  
_Through strength, I gain power._  
_Through power, I gain victory._  
_Through victory, my chains are broken._  
_The Force shall free me."_

* * *

 

 

 

_Florrum_

_Two weeks earlier_

The pirate lair on Florrum graced the surface of the planet like an ugly craterous wound that had been left un-cleansed for a very long time. It smelled like one, too. It was inhabited not only by Weequay pirates, but other unsavory creatures. There were rats, everywhere, in all the rooms; monkey-lizards slinking around at all hours, mynocks that lurked in the electrics; the occasional Jawa; and, sometimes, Anakin Skywalker. What little grass and greenery grew outside the compound had long since withered and died, as if to say better to end it all than to live in such close proximity to the headquarters of the Ohnaka Band, as any civilized being, sentient or insentient, ought to. The inside of the compound was even worse. The smoky rooms, the slimy upholstery, the ever-present stench of cheap Jawa beer, and the _Weequays_ , and the _dogs_ and the  _singing_ Weequays . . . 

None of that mattered, though, if you were drunk enough. 

“What you _have_ to understand, Hondo," Obi-Wan Kenobi was explaining, looking more disheveled than usual in his black robes (but only just-so), his hair, slightly longer than he usually grew it these days, kept falling over his eyes. He brushed it out of the way with a gloved hand and leaned forward, intent that his host listen, "is that in order to successfully get the ship past the blockade, the life-form sensor dampeners are essential to disguising the contents. Otherwise…” he shrugged and took a sip of his drink. Better to let the pirate finish the statement himself, he thought. Dramatic effect. 

Hondo Onaka, Pirate King and In Charge, loosely-speaking, of the mess sprawled in the hall around them, didn’t appear to agree. He barked out his usual ostentatious laugh, and slammed his now-empty drink on the table in front of his guest.

“Otherwise _what_ , Kenobi?” He leaned back in his chair, flinging an arm casually over the backrest and crossing his legs, “Are you trying to say my men couldn’t handle a few republic drone fighters, or . . .. whatever it is they are using these days?” He laughed again. “We don’t need this fancy, um,” he gesticulated with his hand resting atop his chair, grasping for the word in basic that was slipping his nearing-inebriated mind. Kenobi waited. “This fancy . . . whatever it is you want.” He frowned. “Uh, what was it, again?”

“Life-form sensor dampeners.” Kenobi said flatly, trying to be annoyed that Hondo apparently wasn’t in the mood to pay attention, but, after four and a half drinks, also finding it hard to care.

“Ha ha!” Hondo snatched another drink from one of his Weequay underlings, who passed by their seats at the center of the table carrying, remarkably, a drink tray. “Yes, what a mouthful, you should really consider a catchier name.”

Kenobi grinned, pleased not particularly at the direction this conversation was going, but more on the fact that Hondo was beginning to look considerably more affected by the strong drinks than he was. 

“When our plan ultimately succeeds, Hondo, you can call them whatever you like.”

“Right, because you are going to be… ruling the galaxy,” Hondo waved his hands dramatically, “or whatever. Or, wait, was that a different plan?”

“No,” Kenobi stopped grinning, “no it’s – it’s the same plan, they’re all part of the same plan! Everything we’re doing is towards the ultimate goal-” Hondo raised an eyebrow, “-never mind,” Kenobi snapped. “I’m not explaining it again.”

“Oh. I am so . . . disappointed.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Eh – right. Ultimate power,” Hondo said the words while, again, waving his hands dramatically. _Kriffing Jedi_ , Kenobi caught distinctly in the intoxicated tangle of the pirate’s thoughts – which were frighteningly similar to Hondo’s thoughts when he _hadn’t_ been drinking.

Kenobi saluted with his near-empty glass. He didn’t feel like pressing it.

“Precisely.” He downed the rest of its - rather murky - content. If he wasn’t nearly drunk, he’d be insulted. Now, what were they talking about? Perhaps he was more affected by – whatever this was he was drinking - than he’d thought. Oh, yes.

“Difficult-,” Kenobi blinked, finding it suddenly hard to focus on the Weequay lounging in the chair across from him, “difficult name aside, we need it for this plan to - go as planned.”

“And who’s going to reimburse me, huh?” Hondo lifted his index finger off his glass to point at Kenobi, “You? Ha. Ha ha.”

Something far off and dark rushed over Kenobi for a moment. He narrowed his eyes at the pirate. Normally, if a conversation with someone he wanted something from had been allowed to get this far without a concession from the other party, this was the part where Kenobi would casually flip his hand up, signaling his apprentice who would, in this ideal situation, be standing behind him, to begin choking the Living Force out of whoever had the nerve to be so insolent in the face of a completely reasonable and, more significantly, merciful, offer, while Kenobi himself would lean forward, look the offender in the eye, and say, softly, “Would you like to reconsider?”

It usually worked.

 “You’re lucky I like you, Hondo.” He said offhandedly, with a hint of a warning in his voice that should have been noticeable to anyone who knew him.

Hondo, of course, didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.

“Like me? You’d be dead without me, Kenobi.” The pirate grabbed an untouched drink from another underling. This one sat further along the table, passed out in his chair. Hondo used the full glass to knock Kenobi’s empty cup off the table, where it landed on the floor with a dull ‘clank.’ He dropped the new drink in its place and took a long swig of his own, ever giving off the appearance of being immune to Kenobi’s idea of a casual threat.

Kenobi’s eyes flashed dangerously at the pirate. For a moment, he entertained the idea of force-choking Hondo himself, but it just wasn’t the same show of power if you couldn’t get your apprentice to do it for you.  Because, of course, his so-called, ‘apprentice,’ was nowhere to be found. Anakin had wandered off to Force-knew-where, probably fraternizing with the other pirates, or something just as terrible.

“Never an apprentice when you need one,” he muttered out loud, probably because of the drinks.

“What?” Said Hondo.

 “I said, I wouldn’t _push it_ , my friend.” Obi-Wan picked up his new drink and eyed it carefully. It looked gross. He took a sip of it.

“Eh, right,” Said Hondo, “Anyway, as I was saying-”

A shrill, frantic beeping interrupted whatever Hondo was about to say. Kenobi and the pirate both turned to the source of the noise. A tiny, rusty cleaning droid scuttled over to the empty cup Hondo had knocked to the floor. With a misplaced, yet surprisingly powerful swipe of its small mechanical arm, the droid knocked the empty cup from the floor, sending it flying high across the room, landing with a significantly louder ‘clank,’ heard even over Hondo’s lively music, on the other side of the hall.

The droid let out its loudest, shrillest beep yet, and sped off across the dim, smoky room in the direction it knocked the cup, going right through the middle of a throng of Weequays cheering on a brawl between two of the resident monkey lizards

“Ah,” Hondo became suddenly serious, watching the droid swerve to avoid a drunkenly placed kick in its direction. “That one. I’ve been trying to kill it for years, but, alas! It avoids me.”

Kenobi, recognizing the defective droid as a young Anakin creation, sighed.

“I’m afraid I’ve seen worse,” he informed the pirate, “there was one on our ship that went feral.” Kenobi didn’t know if it was a programming mistake made by the droid’s creator (Anakin Skywalker, age 12) or, more likely, some detrimental effect of living in close proximity to the Dark Side of the force. All he knew was that he’d never caught it. It was still in the dark recesses of the ship somewhere, lurking.

“Ah.” Said Hondo. “Well.”

There was a moment of silence wherein both Hondo and Kenobi stared at their drinks, neither remembering what it was they had been talking about. This new drink was a clear, green liquid. Kenobi tried another sip of it and found his sense of taste had become rather dulled. It was probably for the best, he thought, as he drank more.

“Anyway-” suddenly remembering the argument, Kenobi sat down his drink as he fought off another wave of dizziness, “of course, once our mission succeeds, I shall reimburse you with _interest_ , Hondo, not to mention the fact that our previous agreement still stands.”

Hondo thoughtfully rubbed a hand over his face.

“It’s not that I, uh, doubt your word, Kenobi,” he frowned, “it’s just that this is job is, um, how do you say,” he thoughtfully fanned out the fingers of his empty hand, then clenched them together in a fist, “ _completely crinking insane!_ If you don’t succeed, the profit margins - my losses – it’s- it’s a bad investment!” Hondo slammed his drink onto the table again, to emphasize the point. Some of the green liquid sloshed over the brim of the cup and onto the table.

“Really, Hondo,” Kenobi put his drink down, in a much more civilized manner, thank you, and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his seat. He propped his feet up on the table, crossing one boot-clad ankle over the other, regretting it immediately as he almost lost his balance. Nevertheless, he continued on, all bravado, “when have I ever been a bad investment?”

He never got a chance to find out. The tiny cleaning droid picked this exact moment to skitter its way back to the main table, proudly balancing Kenobi’s ill-fated cup in its clawed mechanical arm. With a happy shrill, it launched the cup directly at the two of them.

Kenobi instinctively ducked, almost falling out of his chair, again, as its front legs came crashing back to the ground. Hondo, who lacked Kenobi’s force-sensitive reflexes, was hit squarely on the front rim of his helmet. The cup clattered loudly on the table between them, spinning from impact.

“You-!” The pirate yelled at the droid, launching half out of his chair and pointing at the droid.

Drunkenly, Kenobi reached out with the force to stop the spinning cup. It froze and lifted off the table in front of him. He squeezed his gloved hand together, and the metal cup collapsed in on itself with a satisfying _crunch_. He turned around, intending to throw it at the droid, only to see it scurrying away at high speed, dodging the feet of other drunken pirates and heading towards a door in the back of the room. He soon lost sight of it in the crowd.

“Well,” Kenobi muttered to himself, turning back around and tossing the crumpled cup on the table between him and Hondo. The pirate looked at it with narrow eyes.

“That” Hondo pointed at the cup, “is _exactly_ what I am talking about.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Kenobi said nonchalantly, holding his hand out again and crunching the metal cup into a tighter ball, in case the droid decided to return.

“I mean, _you_ are _crazy_!” Hondo stood partially up from his chair, forcing Kenobi to look up at him. He pointed a finger accusingly at his guest, “And I,” he pointed the finger back at himself, “am not!”

“Only from a certain point of-“

“No!” Hondo interrupted him, “No. I,” he hiccuped, “am right. This plan is crazy! Now, boarding a few cargo ships and stealing their supplies, I can deal with, sabotaging a few slave ships here and there, _sure_ , pillaging junk shops, okay. But _this_ ” Hondo tisked and shook his head, “you will never make it in, much less out of the Capital of The Republic. It is crazy!”

“Good thing we’ve no plans to go near the capital, then.”

“You know what I mean! Not the damn building. _The planet_.” With an exasperated, “ugh!” Hondo sat back in his chair.

Kenobi placed his forearms on the table, opting out of leaning back in his chair again, in case someone else tried to throw something at him. This was a much more tactical position. The next person (or droid) to make such a mistake wouldn't be as lucky.

“Weren’t you just telling me," he said, "how your men would have no problem handling republic security? The blockade?”

“Well, that,” Hondo waived a hand, dismissively, “They could, probably-“

“Come now, Hondo, don’t tell me you’re backing down. Think of the reward. Not to mention, pulling something off like this would make you a _legend_. No one out here would dare cross with a pirate who could infiltrate, as you put it, The Capital of The Republic. Think of the beings who would flock to your side…”

“Yes, yes, out here, I would become a legend! Well,” He leaned forward also, arms on the table, face now inches from Kenobi’s, “everywhere else, I would become a _target_.”

“Indeed,” Kenobi smiled, because here it was. Victory. He leaned forward too, a fraction. “If only there were some way to slip in. . . undetected.”

Hondo blinked at him from behind his green-tinted goggles. Kenobi fuzzily wondered why he was still wearing them, inside, at night, when the pirate let out another loud bark of laughter and fell back in his chair.

“You’re a slimy bastard, Kenobi. I despise you.”

Kenobi leaned back in his chair as well. Hondo swam in his vision, again. He kept his expression mild, going for bored, trying to will the effects of the alcohol away, “You can only find the life-form sensory dampeners on the black market,” he went on, confident now that he’d won. “I trust your men won’t have a problem procuring them for us? We’ll need at least three. That is, if you so value your anonymity.”

Hondo went silent for a moment. He narrowed his eyes again, no longer looking amused. The pirate captain appeared to be thinking; attempting to come to some sort of decision; weighing the odds. Kenobi hoped the copious amounts of alcohol his host had consumed this evening were going to work the decision in his favor. Truth be told, he’d been counting on it.

“I still don’t think that this is going to work.” The pirate said at last, “Even with these . . . life-form thingies. We could slip past republic ships, sure, you and the boy could slip past the republic guards as well, of course! But . . . ah-”

Hondo cut his exuberant speech short. For a moment, he acted like some imaginary dust on his sleeve was distracting him, to help him buy his time to broach a difficult subject, “- there are also your, you know, _old friends_ to consider,” he said, lowering his voice, “your _Jedi_.”

Kenobi taped his finger against the rim of his glass. He picked it up, studying it. “The _Jedi_ ,” he said the word, his voice laced with contempt, “will not even know we’ve been there. At least, not until it is too late.”

Perhaps it was his inebriated state of mind that made Hondo go on, that, and his own uncertainty.

 “Well, yes,” the pirate began delicately, his tone of voice straightforward; prudent, “but, hypothetically, eh, what if they _do_ notice you’re there?”

“Then,” Kenobi swirled his drink around, once, “Anakin and I will deal with them.” 

Rarely did Hondo put in so much effort, as he did now, to ensure he did not sound skeptical, only curious, as he asked the question, “You think the two of you are a match for a Jedi?”

Obi-Wan was glad he was drunk. Otherwise this conversation might be taking a different turn. Instead, he looked into his cup, made himself smile and replied, dryly, “You underestimate the power of the dark side.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Later_

 

Later that night, Obi-Wan slouched in the cockpit of the _Twilight_ , and stared out the viewport at Hondo’s fortress. The soft glow of artificial light emanating from the building muted the light of the stars, which was perfectly fine with Obi-Wan, as he spent far too much time flying among them. You got tired of seeing the same thing all the time, no matter how cosmic and transcendent.

There was a pack of half-feral dogs snuffling around the front yard of the compound that interested him now. They were fighting over scraps the pirates tossed out the front door. Most of Hondo’s rabble had drunk themselves into oblivion by the time Kenobi had made his leave of the main banquet hall, mission accomplished. There had only been a few hazy stragglers, (still) standing in a circle and drunkenly, halfheartedly, as if the novelty had long since worn off, encouraging a brawl between the gang’s two resident monkey-lizards. Obi-Wan himself had always been a little creeped out by monkey-lizards, and pirates, so he hadn’t stuck around. Encouraging fights between non-sentient beings for entertainment was a vulgar thing to do, anyway.

The thought reminded him tiredly of Dooku, still prowling around Serreno. He imagined the man’s reaction to Obi-Wan’s pirate allies would be one of condescension. His old master’s weakness was his disregard and contempt of lower life forms. He wouldn’t deign to bother with the likes of Hondo. 

That was why Obi-Wan was going to _win._

A shift in the shadows at the entrance to the compound brought him out of his revive. He figured the last few drunk pirates, including, hopefully, the monkey-lizards, had crawled into their holes for the night by now. That meant the tall figure sauntering its way to the ship, stopping for a moment to happily pet some of the angry dogs, could only be one person. Obi-Wan watched as the silhouette of his apprentice narrowly avoided having his hand snapped off by one of the angrier canines, gave up petting them entirely, and jogged the rest of the way to the ship, looking over his shoulder to make sure the dogs weren’t chasing him.

Using the force, Anakin open the ramp. Obi-Wan heard him clamor on board.

“Where have you been all night,” Obi-Wan called sulkily, in way of greeting.

“I was . . . playing Sabacc,” his apprentice answered, entering the cockpit out of breath and collapsing into the seat next to Obi-Wan, “sort of. We were playing and I. Strangled one of the pirates-”

“Right, never mind, I don’t care.” The effects of the strong Twi’lek liquor were _not_ wearing off, as much as Obi-Wan tried to will them away. He ran a hand through his hair.

“Dirty rotten pirate was trying to cheat-“

“Well he is a pirate, my young apprentice.”

“Whatever,” muttered Anakin. “How’d it go? With Hondo? He’s in, right?”

 Anakin was feeling far too bright in the Force, and far too awake for Obi-Wan’s current liking. He propped his feet up on the control console and leaned back in the co-pilot’s chair, closing his eyes.

“He’d better be.”

“Ha ha.” Anakin stretched, and propped his feet up on the control board next to Obi-Wan’s, yawning. “Like he’d pass _this_ up.”

“I don’t know,” Said Obi-Wan, still slightly drunk, and now imagining Anakin being mauled by a pack of dogs. The image disturbed him more than he expected. He opened his eyes again. “I don’t entirely trust him.”

“Well, you don’t entirely trust anyone, master.”

“He’s a pirate. Typically untrustworthy, my . . . my _very_ young apprentice.”

“Yeah, but he _owes_ us.” Anakin planted his feet back on the ground, “And he’s pretty uptight about that kind of stuff,” he actually sounded affronted on Hondo’s behalf, “you know how he’s always going on about, ‘Honor is important, young Skywalker,’ or whatever.”

“He what?” Asked Obi-Wan, annoyed.

“Y’know. It’s Hondo.”

Obi-Wan didn’t know, but didn’t feel like pressing it.

“Mm. Well. I’m only concerned he won’t pull through with his end. A plan of this magnitude needs all of its working parts in order.” Anakin would appreciate that analogy, he thought.

“Eh. Why wouldn’t he? He likes doing things that make him rich. Like helping us.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Obi-Wan said. “Still.”

“You suppose I’m right?” Anakin sat up, “really?”

“Just shut up. Go and play with your new friends.” He gestured at the dogs, several of which were now mulling around the front of the cockpit. If they started barking. . .

“Well, they’re nicer to be around than _you_.” Mumbled Anakin, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms, but making no move to leave.

“Oh, yes, all the times I’ve tried to bite off your hand. Forgive me, they must be far better company,” then he added, as an afterthought, “The fearsome Darth Vader, befriender of small dogs.”

Anakin scoffed. “They’re cute, master. Small, hairy, and vicious. Like you. What’s not to like?”

“I,” said Obi-Wan, “have nothing in common with small dogs. Unlike some.” He threw a glance at Anakin.

“I dunno,” Anakin pointed out the window at a dog near the cockpit, “that one looks like you.”

Actually somewhat curious, Obi-Wan leaned forward and tried to get a closer look at the dog, “You can’t even see it, it’s too dark.”

“Well, I saw it earlier. It looked like you.”

“Alright, Anakin, we’re changing the subject.”

Anakin rounded on him.

“It’s _Darth Vader_ ,” he practically snarled.

“For the last time,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, “this is a _reformation_. We aren’t conforming to their ideals and . . .” he had to pause for a moment to remember the right word, “. . . traditions.”

“But it sounds _wizard_. And no one will take us seriously if we don’t have _Sith titles_.”

“That isn’t true. Plenty of people take us seriously already.”

“Like who?” Demanded Anakin.

“Well,” Obi-Wan had to think about it.

“See!”

“It’s doesn’t matter.” Snapped Obi-Wan. “The point is, there’s no need for pointless . . .” what was it Anakin had called them? “. . . _Sith_ names,” he remembered.

“It’s Sith _titles_. And it’s a _dignified_ tradition _,_ master.”

“You sound like Dooku.” Obi-Wan threw out. “Since when did you care anything about ‘dignified traditions?’”

“Darth Vader is a cool name,” was the best Anakin could do in his own defense. “You’re just mad because we couldn’t think of a good one for you.”

“Oh, shut up. That has nothing to do with-”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t like ‘ _Darth Beard.’”_ Anakin chuckled at his own joke, and Obi-Wan was unfortunately reminded of the week or so when Anakin's favorite past-time had been coming up with a good 'Sith Title' for him. It hadn't ended well. They both still had scars. 

"Fine, have it your way, _Lord Vader,_ " Obi-Wan conceded, probably because, again, he was drunk. 

"Lord Beard," Anakin acknowledged.

Obi-Wan summoned the fraying vestiges of the Force still available to him through his drunken haze and shoved Anakin out of his chair. 

Anakin, surprised, hit the floor with a dull _thud_. He tried to scramble to his feet and tripped again on his long cloak, barely managing to catch himself on the control panel. 

Obi-Wan watched him dispassionately.

"You seem to be having some difficulties, Lord Vader."  

Anakin straightened up and made a face at him. He knew better than to try the same tactic against Obi-Wan, now that it would be expected. Instead, Anakin physically launched himself at Obi-Wan, who was honestly either too drunk or too naive to see it coming. 

"Alright, alright!" Obi-Wan protested as Anakin grabbed the back of his robes and tried to throw him to the floor of the cockpit, laughing all the while. "There's - no need to be so-" He was really too drunk for this, and tried to push Anakin off of him. They ended up in a heap of dark robes on the ground. Obi-Wan tried to sit up and knocked his head against the arm-rest of the pilot's chair. 

"There's a chair there, master," Anakin grinned at him, probably quite drunk himself, Obi-Wan realized. 

"Shut up," he said, for what had to have been the tenth time since Anakin entered the ship. He grabbed hold of the fore-mentioned chair and stood up. "I'm going to bed," he announced. "We've got _work_ to do tomorrow, so I suggest you do the same." 

"Yeah, yeah," said Anakin, staying where he was on the floor, resignedly. "Obi-Wan-" he called after his master, as Obi-Wan made to exit the cockpit.

"Yes?"

"Do you think," Anakin squinted thoughtfully somewhere off-center of his place on the floor, suddenly still and serious, "this is really going to work?" 

Obi-Wan paused in the doorframe. 

"Oh dear," he said sarcastically, "surely you aren't _frightened_ , Anakin?"  

Anakin frowned. 

"It's risky," was all he said. 

"Well-"

"Not risky for us, of  _course_." Anakin's frowned deepened. "But I just, I dunno." 

"What in the blazes are you talking about." 

"Never mind," Anakin said, and every inch of his silhouetted posture said,  _brooding._

Obi-Wan looked at him a moment more before turning back to the door. 

"All right, then," he said, "goodnight, Anakin."

"'Night, master." 

Obi-Wan disappeared in the back of the ship for the remainder of the night, but Anakin remained awake for a while. He moved from his spot on the floor, to the pilot's chair, and stared out of the viewport at the muted stars, thinking. He, for one, missed the stars in deep space. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author's note obi-wan and anakin totally sleep curled up together on some little space-couch in the twilight's storage room because they are both So Lonely. sorry i don't make the rules


	3. Chapter I: Naboo 32 BBY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So . . . I've got a good 80k words of rough draft shit written of this story just sittin around on my a fore mentioned decrepit laptop, and I've recently been re-inspired by my boring-as-shit summer vacay to pick it up again and edit it enough to put it on the internet. hope yall enjoy!!
> 
> strap in for some Back Story

_Ten Years Earlier,_

_The City of Theed – Naboo_

 

 

Padme Amidala, 14, held her blaster at her side. She stood inside the upper floors of Theed Palace in the hallway outside the throne room. The Naboo guard milled about the hall around her, further securing the area and trying to make sense of the wreckage. Padme herself studied a smoking battle droid, crumpled on the pristine floor. It stained the whites of the marble around it a soot splattered black, its middle, the central power system that housed its battery and mobile unit, was blown open. A confusion of fringed wire endings and melted metal parts burst forth from the tanned metal casing.

The majority of the droids had deactivated with the destruction of the control ship, but Padme remembered shooting this one herself. The satisfaction in her chest made the corner of her lip quirk upwards in a grim smile as she nudged the dead thing with the toe of her boot.

But the melted machinery left a bitter stench in air. Before, the halls of the palace had always smelled of fresh flowers. They would again, she assured herself. Her city - her _planet_ , was safe.

“Your majesty.” Eirtae came to stand at her side, voice urgent. She was dressed identical to Padme, in the dark maroon tunics they’d fought in through the sweltering summer heat. Strands of blond hair had fallen lose in the fray and were plastered to her forehead. She showed no outward signs of exhaustion, however. Never losing an inch of intensity or focus, her eyes remained on the queen. “We must go.”

Padme’s gaze cut from the ruined battle droid to her handmaiden. “Has the hangar been secured?”

“It has, my lady.”

“Good.” She stepped over the droid, sliding her blaster back in its hilt. “Let’s go.”

They joined a small entourage of guards in the hall outside the throne room who were escorting Sabe, still dressed as the queen. Buzzing from adrenaline, and operating solely on the high of victory, Padme barley held her composure. She regarded Sabe with a shaking nod, and a blinding grin. Sabe only smiled lightly in return, eyes bright, but still in character. Captain Panaka came to stand at her shoulder.

“The republic representatives are on their way.” He informed the party, eyes flitting on and off of Padme, as the total security of the palace was not yet ensured. “Viceroy Gunray will pay for his crimes today.”

“Thank you, captain,” said Sabe. “We’ll meet them in the hangar.”

Like the rest of the palace, the main hangar was a smoldering wreckage of battle droids, but the air was clearer. As the entourage pushed their way through the doors, Padme noticed a group of pilots standing together, laughing and cheering around a star fighter. One of the pilots had lifted a small child onto his shoulders.

Padme felt a fresh wave of delight upon recognizing the boy, Anakin Skywalker. His face was lit up with pure joy, and he was yelling and pumping his fist in the air along with the other pilots. She had been too distracted by the fighting to give a spare thought to the boy’s wellbeing after the Jedi had ordered him to stay in the cockpit of a starfighter. The relief she felt at seeing him unharmed was unexpected.

Noticing the approach of the Queen, the pilots broke apart and hurried over. The pilot holding Anakin slung him back down to the ground and put an arm around his shoulders, ushering him over alongside them.

“Pilots.” Said Sabe, regally, “your service here today will go down in history. Your bravery has saved our planet.”

“With all due respect, your majesty,” said the pilot with his arm around Anakin, “It wasn’t entirely us.”

“I blew up the ship!” Anakin burst, leaping forward from under the man’s arm. He seemed to have little interest in the new crowd, instead picking out Padme from the group. Grinning wildly, he ran over to her. “I did it, Padme!”

“What’s this?” said Captain Panaka. Sabe turned to look at the boy. Padme knelt down to his level.

“What?” She said, unable to stop herself from smiling back at his ecstatic expression, “Ani, what are you talking about?”

Up close, she could see the soot marks around his eyes in the outline of goggles. His face was flushed with excitement.

“See, I, um, accidently started the ship, and it was on autopilot and it took me and Artoo up to the battle and-“

Anakin continued on, wildly recounting his tale in a frantic rush, his words spilling over each other. Padme glanced up incredulously from Sabe to the group of pilots behind her, and back to Anakin.

“and I crashed into the hanger. But then we couldn’t get the ship started so I – well, I didn’t mean to , but I accidently pulled the trigger and I started firing bolts into the ship and something exploded, so I knew I had to get out of there, luckily Artoo got the ship going again so we-“

“Oh,” Padme laughed in breathless astonishment, “Ani.” She placed her hands on his thin shoulders. He was shaking, still grinning madly. “Are you serious?” She looked to the group of pilots.

“He did it, my lady. He really did.” One of them said, from behind Sabe. He gave Padme a look that said, ‘ _I don’t get it either,’_

Padme looked back down at the boy. He had stopped talking. His manic expression seemed to dim, slightly, to something less exuberant and more exhausted. Padme shook her head, the events of the day and now _this_ leaving her momentarily at a loss for words.

“You did amazing,” she managed at last.

He continued to stare at her, dazed. He was breathing heavily, as if he’d just run a very long distance. 

She felt her smile falter.

“It’s okay now.” She gave his shoulders a squeeze. She was aware of the dozens of eyes on them, but Anakin seemed to be oblivious to them all.

His heavy breathing hitched, for a second, and then he launched forward and hugged her fiercely, burying his face in her shoulder.

Padme glanced up to Sabe. Her handmaiden smiled softly at the scene. Panaka shrugged.

It was a long time before Anakin let go.

“You’ve done a great service for our planet today, young Skywalker.” Sabe said sweetly, also kneeling to his level when he remembered himself and sheepishly pulled away from Padme, “this will not be forgotten.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Anakin awkwardly inclined his head. He then looked about the group, and frowned.

“Where’s Master Qui-Gon?”

 

* * *

 

 

Night was finally falling outside the palace. Through the opening in the hangar, the swollen orange sun hung low over the hills beyond the lake. Near the opening of the hangar, Padme and Eirtae stood side by side, Anakin between them. They watched as several small crafts, silhouetted against the purpling sky, made their decent over the lake. The Republic representatives, here to arrest viceroy Gunray and the rest of his trade federation lackeys.

With the decent of the sun came the refreshing night air. To Padme, the cool night breeze through the open wall of the hangar was a welcome respite from the heat of the earlier afternoon.

Beside her, though, Anakin shivered.

“Eirtae,” Padme said, “could you fetch Anakin a cloak?”

Her handmaiden nodded and left. Padme hesitated, then placed her arm around the boy’s shoulders. He leaned against her side, too tired for speech, for the thrill of victory had worn off for them both.

The Jedi Knight, Qui-Gon Jinn, had been found not thirty minutes ago. He’d been lying on the edge of a reactor pit, staring sightlessly at the ceiling with a lightsaber wound through his gut.

The guard around the hangar had been increased, then, upon the realization that the red-bladed warrior was still unaccounted for, along with Qui-Gon’s apprentice. Given the state of the older Jedi, it wasn’t difficult for Padme to imagine what had become of his younger companion.

She held Anakin tighter.

The ships had already landed by the time Eirtae returned with a dark velvet cloak. Anakin looked up at her as she dipped to wrap it around his shoulders.

“Ani,” Padme stepped back, “stay here with Eirtae. I need to speak with some people. She and Rabe will look after you, okay?”

Anakin turned his head to look at her with wide eyes.

“Okay.”

She gave him a small smile before turning towards the ships, wiping her face blank.

Flanked by Panaka and two of his guards, she made her way towards Sabe’s entourage. The decision had been made to keep Padme disguised until the assassin was accounted for.  

On the first ship, she’d been expecting The Chancellor and others from the senate, so when the small Jedi Master Yoda hobbled down the gangplank, she was taken aback.

Yoda, not bothering with any attempt at pretenses, ignored Sabe entirely and came to stand directly in front of Padme.

“Queen Amidala.” He placed both of his hands on the front of his stick and nodded in way of greeting. “Happy to see you safe, I am.”

Several more Jedi followed down the ramp behind him. Deciding it was the best course of formality and respect, she knelt down to his level, some distance further away than she had with Anakin.

“Thank you, Master Yoda.” The title was awkward and unfamiliar on her tongue. “I owe my safety to the help of the Jedi Knights.” Then she paused, unsure how to proceed. The Jedi had already been contacted about Qui-Gon. “We owe more than our lives to Master Jinn. His sacrifice will not be forgotten.”

Unbidden, she recalled the kindly Jedi’s smile. She forced the image from her mind, still unable to process the horror of it all.

“Hmm.” Yoda said gravely, “Yes, a tragedy, this is. The work of an old enemy, I fear. Mmm…” Shaking his head, Yoda turned away from her, clutching the top of his grimmer stick even tighter and shutting his large eyes, seemingly taken in deep thought.

Padme took this as a cue to stand. She met the serious stare of one of the Jedi accompanying Yoda, a dark skinned human male.

“Queen Amidala,” he said, “it is imperative that we track down this assassin immediately.”

“Find the assassin, and find Padawan Kenobi, you will.” Yoda cut in below them, without opening his eyes. “Still alive, he is.”

Padme was taken aback. “Still alive?”

“Yes,” Yoda said, his grave tone dissonant with the news he conveyed. “In great pain, he is.”

Panaka stepped forward.

“We have scouts searching the reactor pit where Master Jinn was found. They haven't found anything yet.”

“And it is unlikely that they will.” Said the dark skinned Jedi. “We'll take it from here.” He turned to leave with his silent companion.

 “We’ll send an escort to assist you.” Panaka offered after him.

“That won’t be necessary,” the Jedi turned, radiating impatience, to the captain, “there have been enough casualties already. This assassin is not to be trifled with lightly. Stay with the queen," he paused, and said again, " _we_ will take it from here.”

“If you say so, Master Jedi.” Panaka kept his face blank. “Good luck.”

“Stay here, I will.” Said Yoda, turning towards the place Anakin stood, far on the edge of the hangar. He and her handmaidens were watching the conversation from afar. “Speak with the boy, I must.”

“Then we won’t waste any more time,” said the other. “May The Force be with us.” With that, the two Jedi peeled off from the main group and made their way to the door that would lead them to the reactor shaft.

Padme watched them walk with purposeful focus towards the door, brown robes whipping out behind them. It was a familiar sight. A memory of the other two Jedi stabbed through her mind, and a vague sense of dread flitted through her stomach as she thought of the cold yellow eyes she’d glimpsed the last time this door had opened.

She was about to turn away from the Jedi, turning her focus to the matters at hand, when the dark skinned Jedi abruptly came to a halt and held out a hand to his companion.

“Wait!” He shouted, and faster than Padme’s eyes could track, a blazing purple blade sprang to life in his hand.

Beside her, Sabe gasped. Captain Panaka and a pack of guards broke away from the queen, dashing over to join the two Jedi, grasping for their blasters.

Padme felt two hands grab her shoulders and she was pulled behind two guards who raised their blasters at the door. She clenched her blaster and raised it between them.

The door slid open, and for a moment, Padme thought the assassin had returned as she stared at the figure directly on the other side, in the place where the dark warrior had first reviled himself only hours before.  

But it wasn't the assassin, she realized.

Obi-Wan was covered in what appeared to be mud – it caked his cream colored robes and was smeared across his face, mingled with sweat. In his hand, he was clutching a deactivated lightsaber. Mouth slightly open, he was breathing heavily, face stricken. His other hand was raised, as if he were just about to open the door himself.

He lowered his arm.

“Master Windu?” His voice echoed across the marble floor, barely reaching Padme through the crowd of people around her.

“Padawan Kenobi!” The dark skinned Jedi’s lightsaber collapsed in his hand. “Where is the assassin?”

Obi-Wan looked with wide eyes at Panaka’a guards, then turned his gaze back to the Jedi.

“Gone,” he choked. “He got away. I - I tried to follow him. He – we fell.” He paused. “Master Qui-Gon is dead.”

Padme lowered her blaster arm as the guards on her sides did the same. A murmur whispered throughout the room, and everyone seemed to visibly relax.

“Know this, we do, Obi-Wan.” Yoda, changing his mind about a conversation with Anakin, joined the group in front of the door. “But time to grieve, later, there will be.”

“How did he escape?” The dark skinned Jedi, Master Windu, asked gravely.

“He had,” Obi-Wan’s voice shook, “he had a ship, hidden in the caves by the lake. He took off before I could get to him.”

“He could be lightyears away by now,” the third Jedi spoke for the first time.

“Yes.” Obi-Wan croaked. Mud from his tunics dripped onto the marble floor, “Masters,” he said, looking between the Jedi, “there’s no doubt, now. He was a Sith lord.”

Then, with one last look at Master Yoda, Qui-Gon’s apprentice collapsed.

 

* * *

 

 

It was late into the night now, past midnight, by Padme’s estimation. The trade federation leaders had been boarded onto ships, and were now being transported to Couruscant to await trial.

The Sith assassin had indeed escaped. Traces of his ship were found in the muddy underground caves, where he’d had one last desperate scrabble with Qui-Gon’s distraught apprentice.

Obi-Wan, somehow surviving his hazily recounted duel with the Sith warrior (the _Sith_ warrior), had recovered completely in the span of a few hours. From what, exactly, Padme wasn’t sure. When she’d last seen him, he had been speaking to the representatives from the Jedi council. This had been after her own talk with these Jedi, after the Chancellor arrived and the subject of Anakin’s fate had been brought up. 

It was this meeting that brought her and the Chancellor to where they were now, in the empty throne room. The lights in the room were dim, and the sky through the vast windows was pitch black.

“This is an outrage,” Padme bit out, struggling to keep her voice low. It wouldn’t do to make a scene, and in front of the newly minted chancellor, no less, even though they were alone. “How could they do something like this? To a _child?_ ”

“It is quite disturbing,” Palpatine was sitting in one of the adviser's chairs in front of the Queen’s desk. He had one leg crossed over the other, and was leaning against an armrest, propping his chin up on a fist and staring pensively out the window. “This is unusually calloused, I must say. Even for the Jedi.”

Padme paced in front of him. The new gown she wore was more comfortable to stand up in, and besides, she was too angry to sit down. She felt she could express herself better from her feet.

“They want to send him,” she sounded furious, irrational, she didn’t care, “back to his _mother._ ”

The implications of this accusation were not lost on The Chancellor. Palpatine knew Anakin’s story. He shook his head.

“I would not have believed them capable. To free a child from a life of bondage, to dangle freedom and chance in front of him, only to snatch it away. . . I agree with you, Padme. This will not do at all.”

“He saved Naboo.” she continued, just to say it to _someone,_ although Palpatine didn’t appear to need any further convincing. “Chancellor, he was the once who blew up that control ship. And this is how we’re supposed to show our gratitude to this child who risked his life to _save our planet_.”

 “Yes, the boy is a hero. It seems a poor way to repay him, to send him back to that place. But,” he looked away from the window, voice taking on the thoughtful draw it did when he was indulging his plans, “perhaps . . . there is another option.”

Oh, and Padme could think of _several_.

“Do you think it would be possible for _you_ to convince them to train him?” She asked. “You _are_ the Chancellor. Perhaps they would listen to you.”

“I’m afraid my word is of little weight in those _hallowed halls_.” He scoffed _._ “Besides, I find myself rather disinclined to trust them with the poor boy, at the moment. Truthfully,” he continued, tone brash and cynical, “I can hardly think of a worse place for a former slave. So many _masters_. It would confuse the child.” He looked at her, meeting her eyes. “Think of it, Padme.”

Padme did. She realized he had a point. Interesting, she’d never thought of it like that before. And besides she also felt “rather disinclined” to trust these Jedi with _anything_ at the moment. 

“Perhaps you’re right. But I will not stand by and let them send him back to Tatooine.”

“Neither will I.” Palpatine dropped his arm, resting it atop his knee, and his tone held a note of decision. “That is why I propose we take young Anakin’s fate into our own hands.” 

Padme stopped pacing.

“I was thinking very much along the same lines, Chancellor.”

A small smile flashed onto his face, before it disappeared.

“Hmm, good. In that case, I propose he stays here, on Naboo.”

“Here?”

“In a way. You may have noticed my interest in the boy. Despite his tragic upbringing, he strikes me as having a keen intellect, and I do so wish to see him succeed. You see,” he smiled wryly, eyes sliding away from her, “I’m thinking of adopting him.”

Padme opened her mouth, and closed it again.

“Naturally,” Palpatine continued, ignoring her surprise, “the capital is no place for a small child, and I would be far too busy to give him the attention he needs at such a young age. That is why I suggest we make a place for him here, in the palace. Only until he is old enough to join me on Couruscant.”

If she hadn’t known Palpatine better, Padme would’ve wondered if this was some sympathy ploy; the newly elected chancellor adopting a misfortunate slave boy. People would love it. A success story.

Perhaps others would think that, but Padme knew The Chancellor. He seemed quite sincere. It was just the sort of thing a man like Palpatine, with a sly sense of whimsy and a good heart, would do – swear off a family in favor of his career, and then turn around and adopt a slave boy.

“Of course he can stay here,” said Padme, turning over Palpatine’s idea in her mind, and liking what she saw. “He could join the legislative youth program, or, or whatever he wanted to do,” she added, at Palpatine’s questioning smile. _Forget the Jedi_ , went unsaid.

“Yes. Anakin is a very unique boy. Perhaps, after a year or so, he can join me on Couruscant. There are excellent academies he could attend, and I myself could teach him all I know.” He smiled at the thought.

Padme imagined the two of them together. She pictured Anakin, slightly older, taller, dressed in Coruscant finery, sitting across from Palpatine in the Supreme Chancellors’ office, perhaps on a day off, watching aptly as his mentor showed him some exciting new delegation or regaled him with stories of his younger adventures. It was a compelling image.

And she would see it happen. As images of Anakin growing up far away from the desert and slavers and the cruelty she’d seen on her trip to the outer rim continued to flit through her head, her resolve to do something for at least _one_ of the misfortunate beings out there in the underdeveloped worlds became stronger, and her disgust at the Jedi grew deeper. He would _not_ return to Tatooine.

 “I confess,” Palpatine said, “I quite like the idea. And it isn’t as if I will be Chancellor forever.”

“I think it’s an excellent idea, Chancellor,” she said.

A genuine smile played across Palpatine’s features. “Wonderful!” He said. 

“What about the Jedi?” Padme was unable to hid the contempt in her voice. “I’m afraid I find my faith in them rather shaken.”

The Chancellor’s smile faded.

“As do I, my dear, but we must not judge the majority on the misguided whims of the few.”

“I find myself unable to agree.” Padme stared at him. “You heard them, the Jedi council made this decision. Who represents their interest best if not their council?”

“Hm.” Palaptine regarded her, “Well, I am in no position to disagree. I daresay you’ve had more experience with them than I. I suppose I find myself looking for the best in people.” He sighed. “Ah, well.”

“It seems Qui-Gon Jinn was something of a maverick.” Padme said, trying to rationalize this entire nasty situation to the Chancellor, and to herself. 

 “And Qui-Gon Jinn is dead.” The Chancellor said softly. “A pity.”

“It would seem none of the others even considered Anakin for a moment.” Padme said, darker than she’d meant to. The Chancellor gave her a sad, understanding smile.

“And so,” Palpatine placed his hands on his knees, making to stand, “Anakin’s fate rests solely in our hands. Do not worry about the Jedi. They only dictate whether or not Anakin can join their strange . . . organization. They do not decide his future.”

“Good,” said Padme, “then it’s decided. Anakin will stay here, in the palace. Under the protection of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.”

“ _And_ the Queen Amidala,” Palpatine reminded her, eyes twinkling. “In the morning, we will discuss this with the Jedi. I’m sure Anakin will be thrilled to learn he does not have to return to Tatooine.”

“I am very relieved, Chancellor.”

“As am I.” He gathered his cloak about him, and stood. “I am afraid I must cut this meeting short. I have pressing communications to attend to. I shall see you in the morning. And we will speak with the _Jedi_ before the celebration ceremony.”

“Excellent. Thank you, chancellor.”

“We are doing a great thing here, Padme. Perhaps even saving a life.” He made his way to the door. His guards pulled them opened at his approach. “Goodnight, you majesty,” he said over his shoulder, “and, once more, congratulations!”

“Thank you, Chancellor. Goodnight.”

He was almost through the doorway when Padme suddenly remembered.

“Chancellor, wait!" She took a step forward. "What about his mother?”

Palpatine stopped in his tracks.

“His mother?”

“Yes,” Padme’s voice echoed across the empty marble room. “Perhaps we should bring her here, too. Anakin needs –“

“Indeed.” Palpatine cut her off, inclining his head in her direction. “Leave it to me, my dear,” he buttoned the clasp of his cloak, and continued out the doors. His guards turned to follow behind him, one on either side. His voice echoing through the palace as he strode away from her with his answer: “I will think of something!”

 

* * *

 

 

In another part of the palace, Obi-Wan Kenobi was also walking out of a meeting, his not as successful as the Chancellor’s.

They had forbid him to go after the Zabrak. It wasn’t _right._

 _“In pain, you are, young Kenobi.”_ Master Yoda’s voice reverberated in his ears, _“down a dark path, I fear this will take you.”_

He felt ripped in two.

“I have to do this, masters,” Obi-Wan’s voice shook as he pled. “He’s a danger to us all. To the galaxy. I know his presence. I can feel him, out there, I can find him, I’m sure of it.”

“So desperate are you to destroy, Obi-Wan? Hmm?”

“No, no it isn’t that, Master, I – he has to be stopped!”

“A quest for vengeance, this is, and nothing more. Pretend otherwise, do not.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan stood, “but I can’t return to Couruscant. I have to find him.”

“Then,” said Yoda, looking up at Obi-Wan, “complete, your training is not.”

Obi-Wan swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and left.

Now, he found himself nearly running down the empty halls of the palace, burning with the need to get to a starship, to get out of here and find the _thing_ that had killed Qui-Gon. With every passing moment, he could be further and further away.

It had been nearly two days since he’d slept, but he hardly felt it. Besides, the healing trance he’d been put under earlier gave him all the energy he needed. He could sleep in hyperspace.

 

* * *

 

 

Anakin Skywalker had fallen asleep.

He hadn’t meant to, or perhaps he had, he didn’t know. All he knew, was he truly was never going to be a Jedi, now. His chances of learning how to become a Jedi died along with Qui-Gon.

He didn’t know what was going to happen to him now. He wanted his mom.

After learning of Qui-Gon’s death, and overhearing that the council still didn’t intend to let him become a Jedi, he’d been taken back to a small bedroom by one of Padme’s friends, and told to sleep there for the night, someone would wake him up for breakfast in the morning.

Unable to sleep, and feeling lonely in a bed that was larger than anything he’d slept in before, Anakin had snuck out of his room and back down to the hangar. He wanted to talk to someone, and there was only one person he knew he could find.

It took him a while to find R2-D2. He searched the back wall of deactivated astromechs before noticing a small cruiser with its hatch open. A whisper of something nudged him towards it. He clamored on board the small craft, finding his way through the darkened innards of the ship to a maintenance room in the back. Sure enough, his new friend was plugged into a charge port, sleeping. He activated upon Anakin’s arrival, beeping happily at him.

“Hey, pal,” said Anakin quietly, slouching next to him.

Artoo beeped in what sounded like a mimic of Anakin’s dull tone.

“Sorry to wake you up. I couldn’t sleep.” He crouched down next to the astromech and wrapped his small arms around his knees. The inside of the ship was warmer than the hangar, but he still wished he’d brought a cloak.

Artoo beeped sympathetically. A box in the side of his dome opened and a metal arm extended. He patted Anakin on the head with it.

“Thanks,” he said, “I just . . . needed someone to talk to. They,” his voice stuck in his throat, “aren’t going to let me be a Jedi.” He hugged his knees tighter against the ache of disappointment in his chest. It didn’t make it feel better.

“Now I’ll never be able help Mom,” he said, “or _any_ of them.”

He wondered what he’d done wrong to make them reject him. He had failed _everyone_.

In reply, Artoo let out two sad beeps, each sequentially declining in cadence.

Anakin’s eyes stung.

“And I just-” he sniffled, glad it was just him and Artoo, hidden in the bowels of a ship where no one could see him crying. “I wish I could prove to them that I – I could _do it_.” He swiped a hand under his nose, “I _know_ I could.”

Artoo rolled away from him to something on the other side of the room. With his extendable arms, he opened a metal trunk, and withdrew an unfurled emergency blanket. He travelled back across the room and dropped it on top of Anakin.

“Thanks,” Anakin mumbled. He wrapped it about himself, happy for the warmth. With a warble of satisfaction, Artoo straightened up alongside him. Anakin leaned his head on the droid’s leg.

“Whatever happens to me, Artoo,” he said, “I hope we can still be friends.”

The droid beeped in affirmation.

“Before I go,” Anakin said, “I promise I’ll restore your rocket boosters. I can’t believe no one ever activated them.”

Artoo let out a happy jumble of beeps.

“I just wish that I-” he sighed, feeling sleep suddenly weigh down upon him, “I just wish that I could . . .”

His eyelids felt heavy. The warmth of the blanket began to lull him away.

“I’m going to fix things, someday.” He said, before falling asleep on the droid.

 

* * *

 

 

R2-D2 knew that his small human friend, Anakin, wasn’t supposed to be on the ship. Technically, R2 wasn’t supposed to be, either, but he and the ship had a Thing. Who would have thought it? R2, an astromech droid, and the ship, an Eta-class Jedi star shuttle. Secretly, R2 felt like the shuttle was a little out of his league, but the ship was impressed that’d he’d operated the star fighter that had destroyed the enemy blockade. So, they were hanging out. The other astromechs were pissing him off, anyway. R2 figured they were jealous.

And so, he was as surprised as the ship when an unexpected passenger arrived, and a flightplan was punched in.

YOU WILL BE REQUIRED FOR THE VOYAGE. The ship told him. REMAIN ON BOARD.

R2 let out an affirmative, yet annoyed, beep. Why did he always end up with the needy ones?

After running a brief diagnostic on the ship, and the flight plan, he beeped the most annoyed beep he could muster. It would be _weeks_ before he returned, if that. Anakin could be long gone by then.

He wanted his rocket boosters fixed, damn it. He doubted the Jedi hijacking the shuttle and bringing him along for the ride would even bother to appreciate that he _had_ rocket boosters.

The small droid ran through the algorithms. He computed that there was one, and only one, solution to this problem.

Besides, the sleeping boy _had_ said he wanted to be a Jedi. Travelling with one seemed like a good way to learn, by R2’s estimation. 

And so, when the ship left Naboo’s atmosphere, R2-D2 didn’t wake Anakin. When it entered hyperspace, R2 remained silent. When the navigational coordinates were fixed into his computational circuits and the ship shot further and further away from Naboo, R2-D2 was careful not to move, so he didn’t disturb the small human sleeping beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shit whats gonna happen next . . . ???


	4. Interlude I: The Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude.

 

Anakin became drowsily aware of the horrible ache in his neck first, and then the dark interior of the hull. Interesting, it was more lit up than it had been before.

 _It must be morning_. He thought, still mostly asleep.

Morning.

He jerked to awareness, scrambling under the emergency blanket he found wrapped around him. _Morning._ He was supposed to be in his room! He hoped Padme and the others weren’t looking for him.

“Artoo!” he said, crawling to his feet, the ache in the side of his neck forgotten. “How long was I asleep?”

Beside him, Artoo beeped, once.

“Yeah, hello to you too!” he sighed, then, remembering why he’d gotten on the ship to begin with, “I hope I didn’t miss breakfast.” He said aloud, realizing he was very hungry.

Beneath his feet, the ship hummed.

“That’s weird.” He said turning in a circle. The ship sounded like it was _on_. Before he had time to think more about it, the ground beneath his feet lurched and he was flung forward onto the ground in front of Artoo.

Dazed, he pushed himself to his hands and knees. “What the-“

The ship lurched again, and he almost lost his balance. Above him, Artoo warbled in alarm.

“Artoo, what’s going on?!” Several possibilities ran through his head. The bad guys had attacked Naboo again, and had gotten in the hangar, and his ship was being shot at. A giant _monster_ had crawled out of the lake and was currently trying to eat the ship alive. Or the assassin had returned, or -

The alarm system in the ship began blaring overhead and the lights of the storage hull began blinking red.

“Oh no.” Said Anakin, dread settling over him like a cold rush of air. “Artoo, we gotta get out of here!”

He figured it out. Someone was trying to scrap the ship, was feeding it into a trash compactor, and _he was on it_.

He managed to climb to his feet again. Now, the ship was simply shaking beneath his feet. He held onto Artoo for balance.

“Come on!” He said, leaping forward and grabbing a wall, “Artoo, let’s go!”

He made his way carefully down the hall, and turned to see Artoo had stayed where he was.

“What wrong?” He said, “Come on!”

Artoo beeped reluctantly.

“Come on, buddy! You can’t stay here!”

The droid remained where he was, he shook the top of his dome from side to side.

Anakin stared at the droid for a moment, and doubt flooded his mind. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it would be best to stay _in_ the ship. Maybe there was something out _there_ –

But Anakin wasn’t afraid.

“I’m going to see what’s going on!” He yelled over the sirens as the ship abruptly jerked sideways and he slammed against the wall. He leaned against it, desperately gripping a protruding pipe as the ship shook back and forth with more vigor than before. For a moment, it was all he could do to stand there, holding himself up.

When the ship stilled again, he ran for it, keeping his hand along the wall for balance. As he clamored up the hatch leading to the lowered ramp that would take him back out into the hangar, he noticed something odd.

The ramp was closed.

His eyes widened on their own, and he turned towards the open door to the cockpit. Through it, he could see the lights of the control council, and the viewport. And beyond the viewport, stars.

And a fast approaching purple planet.

He felt the bottom of his stomach drop to the floor as he realized what had happened. The ship had taken off from Naboo with him on it.

“Oops.” He said to no one.

Then the ship was stuck with turbulence again, and Anakin flew sideways. He crashed hard onto the floor, air knocked from his lungs. He managed to crawl towards the wall and pull himself back up, making his way to the cockpit. He had to let the crew know he was here. That there had been a mistake. Hopefully, they would take him back before he got in trouble.  

Somehow, as he neared the cockpit, he was able to _tell_ who this crew consisted of. Though, to begin with, it wasn’t a crew. In fact, there was only one person.

 _Oh no._   Thought Anakin.

He felt Qui-Gon’s snappish apprentice, who Anakin had always got the sense never really liked him, in the cockpit beyond, banging on a control. For a moment, he was tempted to go back to the storage room of the ship and hide, with Artoo. Teenagers made him nervous.

He was in trouble for sure. 

Obi-Wan, who Anakin had spoken to maybe three times, was muttering something under his breath. Anakin struggled to the door of the cockpit and saw him beyond it, punching more controls on the ship's panel with one hand and clinging to it for balance with the other. 

"This is Obi-Wan Kenobi-" he was saying into the ship's receiver. "This is -  _blast it."_ There was the sound of a scrambled frequency, and then silence. Kenobi hit the button next to the receiver mouthpiece again with his entire fist.

Anakin had reached the door, stomach in his throat not just because of the turbulence. 

"Um," he said loudly, to announce himself. 

Obi-Wan jumped violently and spun around to stare at Anakin in one motion, his eyes wide.

"What-"

He was interrupted by the largest wake of turbulence yet, that knocked him and Anakin both off their feet. The cabin lights flickered. 

" _Anakin,"_ Kenobi practically yelled over the wailing alarm that now rebounded around the durasteel walls, "what are you _doing_ here?"

"I don't know!" Anakin yelled back. Honestly, he had no idea. 

Just as they'd both regained their footing, the ship shook again. 

Kenobi grabbed the back of the pilot's chair for balance and Anakin grabbed the door frame. They stared at each other. 

"The Sith lord is _on_. _that_. _planet_." Obi-Wan told him, eyes wild, pointing out the trasparisteel viewport behind him at the rapidly enlarging purple planet. 

Anakin wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about that. 

"I'm  _sorry!"_ Was all he could think to say. 

Obi-Wan looked at him incredulously. He look quite . . . stressed, thought Anakin. 

The ship shook again. 

"We should probably strap ourselves in!" Anakin said, and with one last cautious look at Obi-Wan, hurried over to the co-pilot's chair. 

 Obi-Wan watched him with disbelief written all over his face before following suit and stumbling over to the pilot's chair. 

"We're caught in some sort of tractor beam. Some kind of force field," Obi-Wan said automatically, not looking at Anakin. His eyes scanned the control panel. "Anakin, you _shouldn't be here_."

"I didn't mean to be here!" Anakin protested. 

And then the ship shut down. The control panel and the cabin went dark and silent. 

For a moment, no one said anything, and the ship seemed suspended in space. The planet now obscured the entire viewport. 

"Oh, this isn't good," muttered Obi-Wan, and then the ship lurched forward, as if pulled by an invisible hand, straight towards the planet. 

The last thing Anakin knew was the overwhelming shudders of the ship, knocking him around his chair, and a bright light. 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter II: The Dark Planet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I did not mean to draw comparisons between Katarr and Malachor… my homeworld still exists. It is… intact. The planet was not destroyed, it remains… it orbits, dead in space, but nothing lives on its surface. It echoes, but there is no one left to hear it._
> 
> stuck on a deserted sith homeworld, kenob and anikin are Struggling

_Three Months After the Battle of Theed_

_33 BBY, Unknown Planet, Wild Space_

 

Lightning flashed. There was a deafening clap of thunder that seemed to send a jolt through the very earth under Anakin’s feet.  He scrambled along the craggy dirt, balancing a makeshift metal bowl that had been fashioned from a piece of spare metal ripped from inside their ship. The bowl held the metallic, _dead_ , smelling water he’d found, bubbling out of a smoking hole in the ground.

Before leaving Tatooine, Anakin would’ve never imagined water could smell _dead._

The ominous red glow of the vast nebula that spread across the sky, nearly obscured by the dark, ever-present storm clouds that loomed overhead, was the only source of natural light on the planet.  That, and the lightning that never stopped. In the darkness between the flashes of white light, Anakin could only just make out the landscape around him. The shadows stretched around him like the gaping maw of a giant sarlac pit that threatened to swallow him whole. The air smelled of plasma.

It was always night. He hated it here. 

Anakin shivered. He wanted to run, to get back to the durasteel shelter of the lifeless ship, nestled in the warm, quiet cave, and away from the ceaseless thunder and lighting, and the dark, away from the eerie silence between each clap of thunder. But running would mean splashing water out of the bowl, and onto his hands, and he didn’t want it to touch him.

“There’s an unusual amount of atmospheric convection on this planet.” Obi-Wan had told him in one of his more lucid moments, face ashen, clutching his bad arm to his chest and looking intently at the monitors in the cockpit, back when they’d still worked.  “That’s what’s to account for all the lightning,” he explained, when Anakin looked confused.

Obi-Wan had also explained that the thunder, which Anakin had never encountered before, wouldn’t hurt him, despite how loud it was. Neither would the lightning. It never left the clouds. He was still afraid, though. The sky rumbled as if threatening violence.

The landscape of this planet was different from Tatooine’s endless, flat stretches of desert, and somehow even more lifeless. Here and there, he could make out the shades of craggy hills of bare rock that stuck out of the dry ground like the jagged teeth of a parched krayt dragon. Black rotted trees pierced the landscape here and there, looking as if someone had plucked them from some other world and stuck them here in the ground to die. The only sign of life was a gnarled vegetation, with strange, glowing foliage that lay close to the ground, struggling to the surface out of cracks in the dirt. In contrast to the stale smelling water, the plants had a sickly sweet scent that made Anakin feel ill if he spent too much time inhaling it.

The foliage with the purple glowing fruits were edible. The ones with the green glow were not. Anakin knew this, because the voices had told him. They had screamed a warning when he’d tried to first eat the green plant, because it smelled the best. They’d whispered encouragement when he’d picked up the purple one instead.

They had led him to the foul smelling water. They had guided him to shelter. They assured him he was safe, here. They had told him to kill Obi-Wan.

Now, he heard them hissing through his head.

_Skywalker_ , they said, their presence in his mind something like of a cool stream of water one moment, and then a hot flash of, well, lightning, the next. _Come back. Follow us . . ._

They seemed to move from his mind, coming louder from the direction opposite of the cave.

_Sith’ari!_ They called, when he didn’t turn around. 

At first, he thought he was going crazy, until he realized Obi-Wan heard them too.

“They seem to like you better.” Obi-Wan had said dryly, when Anakin had broached the subject.

Now, as he walked, wide-eyed across the barren landscape, their soothing voices rebounded through his head, “ _come to us, young one, leave the Jedi, kill the Jedi, leave the Jedi, kill him, leave him, turn back...”_

“Shut up.” He told them, gritting his teeth and watching the water in the bowl carefully as it sloshed close to the rim. Relief flooded him as he spied the black opening of the cave in the side of a jagged mountain. The voices seemed to grow dimmer as he neared the shelter. He quickened his pace as much as he dared.

 

* * *

 

 

The Jedi starship was nestled as far back in the cave as they’d managed to levitate it (Anakin _had_ helped). It was hidden in a small alcove some meters back from the entrance. It was quieter there; safer. The air, although it was confined in the cavern, seemed fresher – the heavy scent of earth replacing the acidic vapors of the outside. The ton of rocks muffled the loud claps of thunder into distant rumbles that Anakin could ignore, if he wanted.

Also, there were no voices. They didn’t follow him here. 

Anakin crept his way through the entrance of the cave, casting his eyes around at the glowing red crystals clustered in nests all about him. They hummed with a comforting energy. However, despite the soft red glow they emitted, the cave was dark. There could, conceivably, be _anything_ lurking in its depths. And Anakin was all alone.

Heart nearly in his throat, still unnerved from the thunder and the dark, and imagining the horrible things that could crawl out from unseen holes, he wished, again, that he wasn’t holding this water. He fought the urge to drop it and bolt for the ship.

It was nearly pitch dark when he entered up the escape hatch, yet a sense of relief washed over him as the metal door hissed shut behind him. The ship’s durasteel walls would keep him safe from anything, he told himself.

It was dark and warm inside the small craft. Obi-Wan said it was lucky they hadn’t crashed the ship completely, that only the hyperdrive had been ruined. However, Anakin could feel that Obi-Wan had almost changed his mind when their transmitter shorted out; when the ship’s power cells eventually died and nothing was left but a backup generator.

This had been back when Obi-Wan had still been thinking about things.

He found the young Jedi where he’d left him, curled in a ball in a pile of blankets under the main control panel in the ship’s cockpit. The only source of light was a small yellow lamp. It sat on the floor next to Obi-Wan.

 Anakin carefully placed the bowl on the ground in the center of the cockpit, careful not to spill a single drop. His arms were sore from carrying it. He dropped to the floor next to Obi-Wan’s prone figure, exhausted and almost giddy from the respite from the paralyzing fear of being alone, outside.

“Hey,” Anakin grabbed Obi-Wan’s shoulder and gave it a light shake. The older man’s skin burned under his hand through the thin fabric of his shirt.  “Obi-Wan, wake up! I brought more water.”

“Mm,” came the muffled reply. Obi-Wan shifted. “Hello.”

The Jedi managed to sit up. He ran his shaking right hand through his overgrown hair. It wasn’t quite as long and shaggy as Anakin’s had grown, after weeks of tracking the Zabrak through space and weeks on this planet, but it was close.

“Do you remember where we put the purifier?” he asked hoarsely, dragging himself over to Anakin with his right hand, keeping his left arm tucked in close to his chest. “Go - go and get it, would you?” 

 “Sure.” Anakin scrambled to his feet and climbed in the pilot’s seat. The water purifier, something Obi-Wan had luckily carried with him when they’d (kind of) landed on the planet, was right where he’d left it, next to the ship’s broken transmission com.

“Ugh,” Obi-Wan said, sounding dazed and staring at the bowl of water, when Anakin handed him the small silver cylinder, “smells.”

“Yeah,” Anakin said. _Dead water._

Once the purifier had worked its magic, the water didn’t smell so awful anymore. They look turns drinking out of the bowl. Obi-Wan said they should save some this time, and fill up some bottles in the ship, just in case. What he didn’t say, was that this meant Anakin would have to go back out to the smoking stream, to the thunder and the lightning and the hissing voices, all on his own.

“Not - not now, of course,” the Jedi said tensely, as if he’d heard Anakin’s thoughts. “Stay on the ship. Get some rest.”  Obi-Wan folded his legs underneath him and tried to sit up straighter.

In the dim light, Anakin could barely make out his features. But he could see, as Obi-Wan he held his bad arm away from his body to examine it, that his face twisted in a horrible, disturbing way; with pain, and something else. When he looked up to see Anakin watching him, he sighed. There was a far-off look in his eye.

“It appears to be – making progress.” He said, with no feeling. More to himself than Anakin. “It should be healed soon.”

“Will it grow back?” Anakin asked. He doubted it, but Jedi had special powers. If anyone could regrow a missing hand, it would be a Jedi, he reasoned.

Obi-Wan’s face twisted again. “No, I don’t think so.”

The last time he’d slept, Anakin had dreamed of wandering the dark landscape of the planet and finding Obi-Wan’s severed hand lying on the ground, like he’d seen it after the fight with the assassin who’d killed Qui-Gon. He had no idea how much time had passed since they’d tracked the Zabrak here and been left for dead. With no change in light to signify the passage of time, it was impossible for him to keep track. He knew Obi-Wan didn’t know, either.

He’d also dreamed, again, of the pitch black fortress, jutting sharply out from between two hills, its towering black spires in stark contrast to the red nebula that blazed overhead. The sky above it had been cloudless and quiet. He’d heard the voices calling him closer. He didn’t remember the rest.

“Eat something,” muttered Obi-Wan, “there’s – the ration bars under –“

“Yeah, yeah, I know where they are.” Anakin groped his way over to the supply hatch near the door, where’d they’d stashed the ship’s meager emergency food. They’d rationed it out to splitting one bar a day, and eating the awful tasting fruit the rest of the time. As he fished one of the metallic wrapped bars from the drawer, Anakin counted only four others left. 

They ate in silence. Obi-Wan took only a few bites of his, and wrapped the rest up, placing it next to his blankets. Anakin had finished his in the same amount of time.

They both agreed to drink the rest of the water.

Obi-Wan pulled the lamp over to examine the stump of his wrist more closely. They’d been unable to find any bacta patches on board the ship, or any other form of medical supplies, somehow. Despite the cauterizing effect of the lightsaber, the wound had become infected. It was this _place_ , Obi-Wan had told Anakin. Dark veins had appeared under his skin and had begun to run up his arm. In the throes of a fever, he’d muttered something about needing to cut the rest of it off. Anakin had thought about it then, trying to imagine how to do it. With Qui-Gon’s lightsaber destroyed, he wasn’t even sure there was anything with a sharp enough edge on board to use. Obi-Wan could probably fashion something with the force, as he had the bowl for the water, but then there would be lots of blood, and no bacta, and-

Well, Anakin was glad it finally seemed to be getting better on its own.  He tried to peer through the dark to get a better look at the damage, as Obi-Wan gingerly dabbed around the wound with a torn off piece of wet robe. It still looked pretty gross.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan snapped, eyes flashing, “Surely you have something better you could be doing.”

“What?” said Anakin, looking away quickly, “I wasn’t doing anything!”

Obi-Wan gave him a look, which appeared quite sinister in the sparse light, then turned his attention back to his arm. He cringed as he tried to peel something off of the wound. Anakin leaned closer.

“Ugh, what is that?”

Obi-Wan stopped what he was doing and said, “Get out.” 

Anakin felt like someone had suddenly slapped him, “But I-“

“ _Get out.”_

Feeling slighted, he said, “ _fine,”_ trying to sound just as acidic as Obi-Wan. For good measure, he mumbled, “ _you_ get out,” as he rose to his feet.

“What?”

“Nothing.” he said, louder than necessary, and made his way to the cockpit door.

Feeling confused, and guilty for even ending up on this ship to begin with, Anakin kicked around the back of the ship for a while, with his own small lamp, searching for spare parts. He had already amassed a small collection on _his_ side of the cockpit, and was going to try and build…something out of it. He didn’t know what, yet. A new hyperdrive, maybe. Or something he could use to call for help. Something to get them off this planet and save them. That’d show stupid Obi-Wan.

In a dark corner, the astromech he’d stolen on board with and his new best friend, R2-D2, came to life, beeping out a greeting.

“Hey, Artoo.” Anakin said, broodingly. He patted the top of the droid’s metal dome. At least R2 wanted him here. “Find anything good while I was away?”

The droid let out a sorrowful beep.

“Oh. Oh well.” Anakin frowned and pulled down a small toolbox he’d found earlier, and had yet to thoroughly inspect. “I guess it’s better for you to sleep, anyway. _You_ need to save your energy,” he told his friend knowingly. Ever since the ship had lost its auxiliary power, Anakin had worried about R2 going as well. With no place to recharge, it was only a matter of time. They were saving the back-up generator for ‘emergencies.’

There wasn’t much on the ship in the way of “spare parts,” short of tearing up the actual body of the craft. Just knick-knacks, here and there, left over from whoever flew the ship around in the past. Whoever it was, they had been frustratingly tidy, and apparently saw no need for medical supplies.

Anakin rummaged through the box until he’d picked out everything that looked remotely useful. All the while, in a low voice, he recounted his recent excursion to Artoo, including everything he’d heard outside; everything the voices had been telling him.

“They say they’re friends,” he told the astromech, “but I’m not so sure. They said I have po- something. Profenshal. Potential. That was it. I don’t know what _that_ means. But, anyway, I don’t like them so much. They make me feel . . . weird. I just wonder where they’re coming from.”

R2 beeped, concerned.

“I know,” Anakin said heavily, but he’d been thinking –

“I wonder if they have a spaceship we could use.” He mused, “I think they have a . . . a palace here. I’ve seen it.” Well, seen it in his dreams, anyway. But he knew it was real somehow, and that it was here on this planet.

If the voices did have a spaceship, perhaps in their palace, he wondered if they’d let him and Obi-Wan use it. For all they helped Anakin, they didn’t seem to like Obi-Wan very much. Maybe Anakin could convince them.

“Look at this one, Artoo,” forgetting the voices for a moment, he dug out a small rusty power cell from the bottom of the box. It clearly hadn’t been used for anything in years. Probably, it had been discarded when someone was fixing a datapad, or something, and had been forgotten about.

Back in the junkshop on Tatooine, Anakin had habitually made excellent things out of forgotten items. He was used to working with other people’s garbage. He stowed his find away in a special pocket by itself.

“Don’t worry,” he confided to the droid, “I’m going to get us outta here somehow,” he gathered his new finds in his arms and headed back to his stash in the cockpit. Artoo beeped after him in agreement, but opted to power back down instead of follow him.

He tried to enter quietly, since he’d left Obi-Wan in a bad mood. Half of him hoped his irritable companion had fallen back asleep. Another part, though, wanted Obi-Wan to be awake. For a long time after the duel, Obi-Wan had barely been conscious enough to know Anakin was there. Anakin had been sure, then, that they were both going to die. Obi-Wan because of his arm, and Anakin because, once Obi-Wan was gone, something would come out of the darkness and eat him.

He found the Jedi leaning back in the copilot’s chair, wrapped up in his cloak, but still awake. He had his feet propped up on the dead systems control panel and was gazing out the front window at the inside of the cave. He glanced at Anakin upon hearing him enter. Anakin looked away quickly. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“What have you got there?” Obi-Wan asked at last. Anakin, taking this as an invitation to, once more, be in the cockpit, relaxed a bit and began to carefully arrange his new parts next to his old ones in his corner in the back.

“Just stuff.” He said stiffly, “Some spare parts me and Artoo found.”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan sounded somewhat better than he had earlier. “Anything useful?”

“Don’t know yet.” Anakin plopped down by his collection, placing his lamp in the center. “I found an old power cell!” He added brightly.

“Does it work?”

“I could maybe get it to work. I could make a com device with it,” he said carefully. Obi-Wan would like that.

“I doubt a com device would do us any good.” Obi-Wan said pensively, rubbing his only hand over his lightly-stubbled cheek, “In order to contact anyone, we would have to connect it to the long range frequency device on the ship, which is currently far from being of any use to us.”

“Oh.”

Obi-Wan cast him a sidelong look, “Not to worry,” he said softly, “It will be alright.”

But worry seemed to radiate off of Obi-Wan, quite contrary to the quiet confidence with which he said the words.

Anakin had a feeling he was lying.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometime later, days, weeks, Anakin had no idea, Obi-Wan’s arm looked less gross, and he had recovered enough to walk around. They were standing just outside the ship, in the cave with the glowing red crystals. A muffled thunderclap resounded through the cavern. When they’d first landed, Anakin would’ve jumped. Now, it hardly bothered him.

“These weren’t grown here,” Obi-Wan commented idly, crouching beside a small patch of the crystals and holding one up to examine in his good (only) hand. His other arm was fit into a make-shift sling. “They’re synthetic,” he grasped the crystal in his hand and stood, turning in a circle about the cave, craning his neck to see the clusters hanging from the ceiling. “Someone created these. They must be storing them here.”

 “Why?” asked Anakin. There were a lot of crystals.

“Why, indeed.”

From the mouth of the cave, a white flash of lightning briefly illuminated the dark walls around them, casting eerie shadows off the stalagmites. Anakin was glad he wasn’t alone.

“Maybe they were going to sell them.” Suggested Anakin. On Tatooine, sometimes jewels were exchanged like credits. Maybe they were worth something.

Obi-Wan glanced at him.

“Not a bad assumption,” He said carefully, “but these sorts of crystals are . . . generally used for something different than currency.”

“Like what?” Anakin scooped up a handful. They felt cold.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily and said, “They power lightsabers.”

Anakin’s head snapped up, “Really?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Anakin frowned at the dark tone. “What’s wrong with them?”

There was another clap of thunder, this one further away, breaking the silence before Obi-Wan spoke. 

 “They’re unnatural,” he explained. “An affront to the living force.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Anakin asked, skeptically, puzzled by the vocabulary.

Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, and down to the crystals in his hand. He seemed to hesitate before continuing.

“I suppose there’s no harm in telling you,” he said quietly. “They’re used by those who would rather bend The Force to their will, instead of letting The Force flow _through_ them.” He opened his palm, surveying the crystal he’d plucked from the ground, “The Sith favor them because they’re said to be more capable of channeling the Dark Side of The Force. Better at it than the natural kyber crystals used by the Jedi.”

Anakin didn’t know much about the Sith. All he knew came from overheard conversations between Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, and things he’d heard whispered at Qui-Gon’s funeral. It was what the red and black creature was – the _thing_ that had killed Qui-Gon, and cut off Obi-Wan’s hand. That was all Anakin needed to know.

With immediate disgust, he tossed his handful of crystals back on the ground. But Obi-Wan still held his, continuing, not noticing Anakin's actions at all.

 “It’s said they produce a stronger blade, one that could even cut through a blade forged with a natural crystal. Like Qui-Gon’s was. And mine,” He was talking more to himself, now. “I’d never actually believed it to be true,” he muttered.

“But that’s what happened!” Anakin realized, remembering the disastrous duel that had stranded them here, “he was able to make it actually _break_ ,” it had been one of the strangest sights Anakin had ever seen; the indestructible green blade flashing and splintering under the assault of the Zabrak’s red.

“Yes. It would seem so.” Obi-Wan stared at the crystal a while longer. Its soft glow cast his face in a blood-red light. 

“Well, that’s not fair!” Anakin was appalled. “How are you supposed to beat him if he has a better lightsaber?”

“No one said anything about ‘better,’” Obi-Wan’s gaze cut from the crystal to Anakin. “The strength of the blade is arbitrary, it’s the skill behind it that matters.”

“But, I thought you were beating him,” Anakin said, unsure what ‘arbitrary’ meant, and remembering Obi-Wan slashing at Qui-Gon’s murderer, “you were! Until he broke your lightsaber.”

When Obi-Wan didn’t say anything, Anakin said again, “that isn’t fair!”

 Obi-Wan regarded him coolly. “I understand, from your point of view, it must appear that way, but fairness has little to do with it.”

Thinking about it, Anakin failed to see how. And there was, again, that strange feeling Anakin felt from Obi-Wan. Uncertainty. The Jedi didn’t attempt to explain himself further.

“But-“ he paused, looking away from Anakin, “for now – we are unarmed, and without aid. Besides,” he stared once more at the crystal in his hand, “It’s fallen to me to find this assassin,” he sounded far away again, as if it didn’t really matter if Anakin heard him or not, “to bring him to justice. To protect the galaxy from the Sith.”

He closed his hand around the crystal. From Anakin’s perspective, he was silhouetted against the opening of the cave. There was suddenly a louder thunder clap, this one much closer than the last, evenly accompanied by a brilliant flash of lightning. The sudden appearance of white light made the Jedi’s silhouette appear black against the mouth of the cave, and something in Obi-Wan’s posture seemed to c _hange._

“Anakin,” he said, turning to the boy as the thunder quieted to a distant rumble, “did you happen to hold onto those power cells?”

Something felt wrong. Anakin’s mouth was dry when he answered, voice small.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan turned back to the ship.  “We’re going to try something.”

 

* * *

 

 

The ration bars had run out two days ago, but the lightsaber blazed red in Obi-Wan’s grip.

It was hastily constructed out of the barest materials Anakin had picked up around the ship, but it worked. Crackling and unstable, it worked.

They were standing back in the cave. Obi-Wan gave the blade an experimental wave in his remaining hand. He twirled it around, once. Anakin watched from beside the ship.

“Can we make me one too?” He asked.

“We do have plenty of crystals.” Obi-Wan said dryly, looking up and down the humming length of the blade, eyes alight. Something about him _had_ changed, Anakin felt. He seemed more focused. More alert. His injury seemed to hardly bother him anymore.

 But then he frowned.

“I’m afraid not, Anakin,” Obi-Wan pressed a button on the hilt and the blade extinguished. He turned to Anakin, “the council hasn’t permitted me to train you. It wouldn’t be right. You aren’t even supposed to be here.”

Anakin felt his throat constrict. He had known that, but- but Obi-Wan _had_ been training him. Teaching him to levitate things, trying to get him to _meditate_. He’d thought they’d both put that council nonsense behind them out here.

“Please?” he swallowed, trying not to let his disappointment show, “just for now?” Maybe if he learned how to use a lightsaber, how to fight, _then_ they’d let him become a Jedi. If he could learn enough to show them how good he could be, then they’d _have_ to let Obi-Wan train him. 

Obi-Wan clipped the lightsaber to his belt with some difficulty, his missing hand throwing him off. He regarded Anakin for a moment, face unreadable.

“Minor force usage, to survive, that’s one thing. A lightsaber is another thing entirely. Particularly . . . these sorts.” He cast his eyes down at the blade on his hip.

“The – the council doesn’t have to _know_.” Said Anakin.  “I could just-“

“No, Anakin.” Obi-Wan cut him off sharply, “it’s impossible.”

Impulsively, Anakin clenched his mouth shut and lowered his head, willing his eyes to stop burning.

“I’m sorry.” Obi-Wan said, softer now. “Truly, I am.”

Anakin kept his eyes downcast. He was afraid of what he’d do if he tried to talk. He wasn’t going to cry in front of the older Jedi.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Listen, when we get off this planet, you can go back to Naboo.” he said reassuringly, taking a step towards Anakin, “You remember your friend, Padme? She’s going to let you stay in the palace. We can – we can find a way to free your mother. You can both stay with her.”

A small spark of hope lit up in Anakin’s chest, warming him. But it was immediately extinguished by the memory of leaving his mother behind on Tatooine, the first time. He look up to meet the Jedi’s eyes.

“Really? Mom? You could free her?” Qui-Gon hadn’t been able to do it. But maybe, if they tried _again_ . . .

He had tried not to think of his mother since landing here, and had anyway, nearly every time he tried to sleep.

“I-” Obi-Wan hesitated, “I don’t want to promise anything, Anakin, but . . . I don’t see why not. Chancellor Palpatine himself offered you a place on Naboo, surely he could find a way to free your mother.”

It wasn’t the definite answer Anakin had been looking for, but _maybe_  . . .

He pictured it, him and Mom, living in their own house near the lake. He imagined himself hand in hand with her, walking through the beautifully cobbled streets, so much nicer than anywhere he’d ever been on Tatooine. He could show her all the fountains he’d seen. All the water -! He could show her the palace where his friend Padme lived, and they could invite her over for dinner, and _no one_ would tell them what to do.

He’d learned, though, that these sorts of thoughts only led to heartbreak. This sort of thing would never really happen. Not to people like him. He’d only just let himself become attached to the idea of training to become a Jedi, and look where _that_ had led.

No, no one was going to help his mom. He knew Obi-Wan was only saying all of this to be nice. Anakin had seen enough to be realistic about this sort of thing.

But _he_ could help her. If only he could become a Jedi – _no_ one could stop him from saving her then. No one could stop him from saving _all_ of them, if he could become as powerful as a Jedi.

But they weren’t going to train him. He felt disappointment wash over him once more, and averted his eyes. 

“It will be alright,” said Obi-Wan.

 Anakin found could only nod.

He stayed out in the warm cave, sitting at the edge of the ship, hands wrapped around his knees, after Obi-Wan had headed back inside.

He was _not_ going to cry. He kicked at a small rock near his feet, harder than necessary. It flew into a nest of crystals, dislodging them and scattering them away from each other.

One of the blood-red crystals bounced over to him, landing right at his feet.

Anakin stared at it.

Something about it made him reach forward, almost unconsciously. He picked it up. Unlike the others, it felt warm in his hand.

He thought of his pile of spare parts. The two extra power cells he fixed up. He remembered watching Obi-Wan construct his lightsaber.

It hadn’t looked hard.

_The Force will guide you._ A sinister voice whispered in his head. Anakin snapped around, searching for the source of the voice, until he realized it was in his head. Something from the outside that had gotten in _._

Swallowing, and suddenly feeling very cold, he slid the crystal in his pocket.

He could feel it there like a heating cell, warming the side of his leg. For a minute, he considered throwing it back on the ground.

In the end, he decided not to. He took a deep breath, and headed back inside the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you read this and thought, 'wow, /someone/ read wild space by karen miller,' youre right


	6. Chapter II: The Dark Planet Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they're still on that fucking planet

_The ration bars had run out three days ago, but the lightsaber blazed red in Obi-Wan's grip._

* * *

_Possibly one week later . . ._

 

The eerie, utterly still silence was the worst part.

Anakin stood to Obi-Wan’s left, closer than he hoped Obi-Wan would notice, both of them with their heads angled upward at the glistening onyx towers. The black of the temple stood out in silhouetted contrast to the red of the sprawling nebula above.

“Here we are,” gritted Obi-Wan. His face remained as set and stony as ever. 

Both he and Obi-Wan had seen the temple, it turned out, in their dreams. Still, Anakin was not surprised, really, but unsettled, to at last behold it in person.

They'd walked for the better part two days. Or, Anakin thought it might have been two days, since he and Obi-Wan had taken shelter once in a deep alcove of shelf rock and sort-of slept. Or tried. Obi-Wan, Anakin knew, hadn't slept at all.

The Jedi had been acting odd, recently. Anakin suspected whatever was keeping him going now didn't have time for sleep. His face was drawn thin, a noticeable change that the stubble on his face that he'd not bothered with for some time now did nothing to cover up. There were circles under his eyes so dark that they resembled bruises. He'd not spoken more than six words to Anakin the entire journey. _Lets sleep here. Wake up, Anakin._ The rest of the time, he trailed slightly behind Anakin, walking hunched over his arm with the missing hand, his other ever on the hilt of his new lightsaber. 

Anakin figured Obi-Wan, too, was listening to the voices. He wondered what they were saying to him. 

To Anakin, they only whispered encouragement,  _Further further further,_ they hissed.  _Turn Turn thisway thisway thiss way_.

The crystal Anakin took off the floor of the cave still burned in his pocket. He wondered if Obi-Wan knew he had it. 

_So close so close socloseclose closecloseCLOSE_

And then, like that, they crested the top of a craggy hill, and the voices were gone. The clouds sank back, and they saw it.

Two days walk. So, the temple had never been far from where they'd crashed. Anakin felt a little miffed at that. If only they'd known that _earlier_ . . .

“How do we get in?” asked Anakin, standing now not a stone's throw away from the dark walls. He scanned the front of the temple for something that could be a door, and saw nothing but unbroken, smooth black stone.  Not that he wanted to get in, particularly. Every instinct in his body was screaming _RUN. RUN the other way._ They had been since the storm clouds had dissipated and temple had first come into view on the far end of the cracked, dry plain, stark against the red horizon.

The voices told him different, though. And it was the voices they were following, now.

Instead of answering him, Obi-Wan murmured the longest sentence he'd managed in two days.

“Have you ever seen anything so _abhorrent_?”

“Um,” said Anakin, and thought about what he should say that Obi-Wan would approve of. “No.” He tried.

Obi-Wan continued to stare up at the towers, bad arm held close to his tattered, dirty robes. With some effort, and what looked like a repressed shudder, he turned away and looked down at Anakin.

“Are they saying anything to you now?” His voice sounded as if it were being physically drug across dry, sandy leather.

There was no need to clarify who. “No,” Anakin swallowed, not liking how small his own voice sounded on the vast landscape. This was what unnerved him. The sky, and the voices, had been utterly silent since they’d arrived at the plain with the temple in view, “not yet.”

No wind, nothing. They were the only things moving. Another impulse gripped Anakin; to remain as still and quiet as possible.

“Are you – have they said anything to _you_?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment.

“No,” he said.

“So – so what are we supposed to do?” He hugged his arms around himself.

Obi-Wan turned slowly again towards the temple. He didn’t answer. Anakin risked a glance at him. The older Jedi was staring hard at the temple, he seemed once again caught in a strange trance, eyes boring into the onyx into something only he could see. Anakin looked away quickly.

Without a word to Anakin, Obi-Wan took one purposeful step forward, looking as if he were moving though quicksand.

“Anakin,” he stared quietly, making to take another step, “I think-“

But before he could finish what he was going to say, it hit Anakin, like a blast of air from a furnace, like a cloud from a sandstorm full of blades like a crack of a whip like an all-enveloping _scream –_

“Wait-!” He yelled, and threw himself into Obi-Wan, pulling them both back onto the hard ground just as the silence was cut with an ear-splitting _CRACK._

They both scrambled back as the ground began to shake. An enormous slab of black rock sheaved off the tower nearest to them and slid to the ground, angled right where Obi-Wan had been standing. It hit the dirt and cut cleanly through it like a vibroblade through, well, anything, and sunk cleanly into the dirt.

“Come on!” Anakin yelled, pulling on the back of Obi-Wan’s robes and dragging them both further away as more stone sheaved off the temple in leaves from the other towers, each impaling the dirt and sinking under, taking the ground away with them.

Anakin was the first to stagger to his feet. He grabbed Obi-Wan’s good arm and the older Jedi managed to pull himself up alongside him. Holding each other for balance, they stumbled back across the shaking ground a bit more, watching the destruction until there was nothing left of the ground surrounding the temple but a gaping black crevice. If he were lucky, Anakin figured he could maybe throw a stone across it.

Silence descended once more, and for all the fallen rock, the temple looked exactly the same, glistening at them from a now unapproachable distance in the glow of the great nebula.

Breathing hard, Obi-Wan straightened away from Anakin and ran his only hand through his shaggy hair.

“That’s not good,” said Anakin, louder than he’d meant to. His voice echoed across what was left of the plain in front of them and was swallowed into the maw. He clamped his hands over his mouth.

Obi-Wan turned to look at him, eyes wild. He opened his mouth to say something when another, quieter _crack_ split the silence and they both jumped, turning back to the temple.

A slice of ember light had appeared, jutting up from the stone of the temple directly across from them. They both watched in silence as part of the stone seemed to crack open, and then slide apart, in the perfect shape of a doorway.

“Well doesn’t that just figure,” breathed Obi-Wan.

“How are we supposed to get to _that_?” Anakin demanded, forgetting again how quiet it was.

“It’s a test,” Said Obi-Wan, “it wants to make sure . . .”

“Make sure of what?” Anakin asked, frustrated for answers as Obi-Wan trailed off and wouldn’t continue.

“It would appear,” Obi-Wan said heavily, in lieu of a real answer, “we have to create our own way across.”

Anakin was more confused now than ever.

“How do we do that?”

Obi-Wan looked at him.

“We use The Force.”

Oh. Duh.

Obi-Wan turned away again and slowly approached the edge of the crevice. Anakin followed cautiously behind, eyeing the ominous temple.

He stopped alongside Obi-Wan when they’d both reached the edge, and peered over it. He could see nothing. The blackness seemed to stretch on forever.

“Do you remember what I taught you about levitation?” Obi-Wan asked out of nowhere.

Anakin stared down into the dark. “Yes,” he said quietly.

“Good.” Obi-Wan stared into the crevice for a while longer, then took a step back, swallowing.

“Anakin,” he said, “do exactly as I tell you.”

Anakin stepped back with him, quickly. Unable to find speech, he nodded.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He held a hand out, slowly, over the darkness.

Anakin watched him with wide eyes. Obi-Wan’s face for a moment seemed calm, collected, then his eyes shut tighter, face screwed up in concentration until –

With a sharp _hiss_ like he’d been burned, Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open and he yanked his arm away.

“What?” Anakin nearly yelled, “What is it?”

Obi-Wan stared down at the crevice with fresh horror in his eyes. He was breathing heavily again as if the temple had begun collapsing all over again and they’d had to make a run for it.

“What’s down there?” Anakin asked the question that had been plaguing him since he’d first peered down into the unsettling depths. Somehow he was certain that Obi-Wan had just found out.

Obi-Wan looked like he was going to be sick.

“This place is evil,” he breathed.

“Yeah, _no way_ ,” said Anakin, glancing desperately around them. “Obi-Wan, _what’s down there_?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, still glaring at the dark pit. “The Dark Side.” Was all the said in way of explanation.

Anakin stared at him.

“What’s – well, what are we, what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to get across,” he said, and his voice had taken on a new note, “or we’re going to die here.”

Anakin started to say something to this, but it was hard to form words past the new lump in his throat. Besides, Obi-Wan had seemed to quit listening.

He turned back to the crevice, this time with new resolve. He closed his eyes again.

“Anakin,” he said, brow furrowed in concentration, “do exactly as I say. Whatever comes out of there, do exactly as I say.”

Anakin watched speechlessly as Obi-Wan once again extended his hand over the pit. This time, he stood . . . differently. He seemed to exhale and then, with something close to a snarl his hand splayed wide in the air and –

From deep below them, Anakin felt, rather than heard – stone grating against stone. The earth trembled again and-

Obi-Wan lurched forward slightly, as if catching something. He looked . . . angry. Anakin faced a brief internal battle on whether or not to back further away from the Jedi.

And then he saw it, approaching from beneath; the smooth, rounded top of a jagged spire, just large enough for two people to stand on. It rose slowly, shaking, not a foot from where Obi-Wan stood at the edge of the pit. When it was level with the ground, it shook once more and seemed to slot into place.

All was silent once more.

“You did it!” said Anakin, because Obi-Wan still had not moved. He remained where he was, face furious with effort, hand splayed above the stepping stone.

“Anakin,” he nearly snarled, and jerked his head toward the new spire. “ _Go_.”

Anakin stared at it.

“I-“ he looked between the top of the spire, and then back and Obi-Wan. He clamped his mouth shut, and wordlessly walked by Obi-Wan, to stand at the edge of the crevice. The top of the jagged jut of rock was a footstep away. He took a deep breath.

Right before he took the step onto the smooth top of the spire, he made the mistake of looking down.

He wasn’t able to stop his startled yell as he gazed down the length of the stone spire. For most of it, he realized, wasn’t stone at all.

“Obi-Wan-“

“ _Go_ Anakin-!”

“There’s . . . there’s bodies-“

Hundreds of them, he realized, some skeletons, some half-rotted corpses, melded together with the same dark onyx stone that made up the temple. Nearest to him was what had once been a torgruta – most of its face rotted away, into a hollow, leathery smile. One montrail was missing and its _arms_ were –

“Don’t look at them!” Said Obi-Wan harshly, eyes still screwed shut with the effort of keeping the spire at ground level. “ _Go_.”

Swallowing his revulsion, Anakin took the step onto the spire. Shaking, he made the mistake of looking down again. He could see a bony arm not far down from his feet, sticking out for the spire like a grotesque tree branch. He snapped his eyes back up to Obi-Wan.

Opening his eyes at last, Obi-Wan continued to stare in hard concentration at the spire. Never moving his outstretched hand, he stepped over the void to join Anakin.

“You –“ the spire shook a little, and Anakin grabbed the older Jedi’s robes to stay balanced. Obi-Wan’s face twitched in concentration once before he continued. “You must bring up the next one.”

“W-what?”

“The next _step_ , Anakin. I have to keep a hold of this one until you do!”

Anakin looked between Obi-Wan and the remaining expanse of the crevice. They would need _at least_ five more steps to reach the temple door –

“ _Remember levitating the ship_ -“ 

“Yeah,” said Anakin. He stared at the doorway. He could do this. He closed his eyes, began to clear his mind, he had to find – had to find inner peace, serenity –

“No-“ Obi-Wan’s voice cut through his thoughts, “that won’t work.”

Anakin’s eyes flew open.

“What?”

“You must,” Obi-Wan seemed to choke on something, “you must use your fear. Your – your _anger_.”

Well, right now, Anakin had plenty of fear. But-

“Remember the – remember the assassin. Remember how he-“

Obi-Wan’s eyes screwed shut again as the spire holding them up shook once more. He held his hand steady.

 _Anger_. Anakin thought. He didn’t have to think long.

He thought of Naboo, and the Jedi council, and-

Swallowing with determination, he turned back to the open crevice, and held out both his hands.

He closed his eyes, like Obi-Wan, and _reached out._

Like that, the Force was with him. He felt it guide his hand forward. Around it, him, he could _see_ , but not really see, the temple to his front, like a glittering, dark mass of _something_. Impenetrable. He was aware of Obi-Wan behind him, his familiar presence not bright, now, (not ever really, here) but swirling black with flashes of white hot fury shooting through it like the lightning from the clouds around the cave, only here honed in a singular concentration that the lightning before had never been . . . he saw, felt, down the walls of the crevice. Down, down, down –

Then something began to lick at his consciousness, like the cautious tentacles of an usually slimy sarlacc-

He realized, distantly, he was starting to choke. But he couldn’t give up now . . .

At the same time the sarlacc tentacle things seemed to start to grow larger, larger, he felt a burning something behind his eyes, in the back of his throat . . . and it was all there at once, his mother, he would never see her again. They had _lied_ to him, he would never save her now, Obi-Wan wasn’t going to train him and he would never see her again and these things were trying to _kill_ him, and the sarlacc tentacles were stretching longer and everywhere around him –

He heard the first scream, and then it was joined in by another. He saw, in his minds eye, the twisted dead face of the torgruta snarling up at him from the pit and with it countless others. The saclacc-thing held them all tight, and was reaching up towards him too, and –

There.

The burning something in his eyes seemed to spread through the rest of him until he felt utterly consumed with it and he wasn’t himself, anymore, he was it and it was him and _together_ they formed their own sarlacc pit, only, only it was more. It was a krayt dragon. It was a star ship. It was a supernova.

Anyway whatever it was sent the slimy sarlacc tendrils slithering back and shoved away the torgruta and the others until they were _nothing_ and they were _his_ and he pulled them up, up out of the stone and with the stone until –

He opened his eyes to see a second twisted spire rise up next to Obi-Wan’s. The ground shook once more, but he didn’t feel it. It needn’t concern him.

His own grotesque stepping stone trembled into place, like the one before it.

“Now you go,” he told Obi-Wan, surprised to hear his own voice.

“Keep a hold of it!” Obi-Wan warned him, exhaustion already evident in his strained voice.

Throat tight, Anakin nodded fiercely.

And so they went, one after the other. Five more, until –

“Now!” Yelled Obi-Wan. He grabbed the back of Anakin’s tunic with his only hand as he stepped onto the last spire behind Anakin and threw them both across the last gap onto the ledge next to the temple door.

Once more, they both struggled away from the edge as their spires, seven, at last, in all, trembled at once and began to fall, sideways back into the crevice.

Anakin saw dark spots, and felt a staggering sense of vertigo overcome him as he watched them go. His supernova, ( _The Force_ , whispered something) slipped away from them.

 Feeling suddenly empty, and very, very cold, Anakin stared blankly down the pit.

"Come on, then," Obi-Wan grunted, somehow stumbling to his feet next to the boy and hauling him up with his one hand. Anakin felt himself pulled through the door, but his eyes never left the dark crevice. He was falling down it with the dead, now he was sure, everything was going dark and he- 

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan was shaking him by the arm. 

Tearing his eyes away he looked up at Obi-Wan, who stopped. 

Obi-Wan's eyes had gone an odd shade of gold, Anakin realized. 

"You did it." He regarded Anakin with a crooked, somewhat manic grin. "Shall we go on?"  

Anakin swallowed, and nodded wordlessly. 

There was a sudden _creak._ Obi-Wan let go of Anakin's arm and they spun around just in time to see the door slide shut behind them. 

A heartbeat, and then Obi-Wan's crackling red lightsaber was alight in his hand. The familiar  _hum_ of most lightsabers Anakin had seen was interrupted by spits and cackles of energy from the unstable blade. Obi-Wan glared at it, warily, for a moment before casting his eyes around the room.

They were standing in a small stone antechamber, longer than it was high. The walls of the chamber were of the same onyx stone of the outside. Glowing, blood red fractal lines cut through the stone, leading like lines on a map to a long, low staircase opposite the door.

"What now?" Whispered Anakin. Now that they were inside, he could feel the Dark Side, like the slimy sarlacc tentacles from the pit before, seep around the walls like a vapor. 

"This way, I suppose," croaked Obi-Wan, nodding towards the stairs. Like a breath, the lightsaber fizzed out in his hand. "Stay close," he warned, and walked forward, keeping the hilt of his lightsaber closed in his left hand. 

 Anakin followed Obi-Wan up the stairs and into a low, dark hall. Then - 

 _Forward_. Something hissed. 

They both froze. 

"Obi-Wan-!"

"Yes, I heard it too." 

"It said, ' _forward_.'"

Obi-Wan turned to look at him. 

"Then I suppose we'll go forward," he said grimly. 

They did, and continued down the dark hall, following the ruby-red map lines in the walls that soon shaped into strange, glowing hieroglyphics with sharp, angry edged. Anakin stared at them in wonder as they walked, wondering what they meant. Until- 

_Left._

Anakin stopped dead.

"They said-"

"I know," said Obi-Wan, voice heavy. " _Left."_

It was lucky they had something telling them where to go, Anakin realized after a while. The hallways began to become very confusing. There were turns here and there, stairs, openings that came out of nowhere, as if they were designed for the sole purpose of getting lost in. 

At last, they came to a steep, narrow stair at the end of a short hall. They climbed it in single file and came up through a gap in the floor along a wall into a vast great hall. Anakin stepped off of the stairs and onto a glass floor. Hundreds of small points of white light seemed to drift below his feet as he walked. The rest of the giant room was surrounded by pillars of dark stone, and beyond them, it was impossible to see. 

 "Wow," he breathed, unable to help himself. 

 "There," Obi-Wan pointed, and Anakin looked far across the room where, barely visible in the shadows, stood three different shaped pillars behind a raised dais.

 _Yes,_ came the voices.

Wordlessly, Obi-Wan started across the room. Anakin followed behind him. 

As they drew closer, Anakin was able to see that the three different pillars were not pillars at all, but statues. Three different statues, depicting three towering figures. The central figure, standing only a hair higher than the others, was what appeared to be a human female, her statue depicting black sightless eyes and wrinkled skin, with ropes of twisted hair on either side of her face. To her right, stood a human male with one eye and cracked, rocky skin, and to her left, a figure with flowing robes and a mask like a skull.

"Who are they?" Anakin whispered. 

Obi-Wan stared in wonder.

"I'm not sure. Relics, I think, of an old Empire."

"Did they live here?"

"I don't know."

They came to stop at the foot of the dais. The statues towered silently above them.

"There is great power here," Obi-Wan said, mostly to himself, "and great knowledge."

"Is there a great com unit?" Asked Anakin.

Obi-Wan gave him a nasty look.  

"All in good time, Anakin." 

 _You could barely walk one day ago_. Anakin wanted to remind him. He, for one, was ready to get out of here. 

Meanwhile, much to his confusion, Obi-Wan had closed his eyes, and stretched out his hand. He looked thoughtful. Somehow, Anakin knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he _wasn't_ looking for a way to communicate a distress signal. 

Feeling a little creeped out all of the sudden, and not sure why, Anakin took a step away and looked behind him. He felt like something was watching them. 

" _Obi-Wan . . ._ " he began to plead, and trailed off, watching the older Jedi cautiously. He realized he wasn't going to be listened to.

Fine, then. 

With one final glare, he inched back across the floor, away from the statues and Obi-Wan, and glanced about the massive room. A place this size could easily hold a ship, or at least the means to _contact_ one . . . 

 His eyes fell on the shadows beyond the pillars to his left. 

"We should go check over there," he called, as loud as he could muster, and gestured. Not that Obi-Wan saw, but. 

No response. Whatever _pointless thing_ had Obi-Wan's attention was keeping it, undivided. 

_Fine._

"I'm going to check it out," he called, because it wasn't like Obi-Wan was going to stop him. "I'll be right back," he added. 

He stared at Obi-Wan, hoping for some reaction. Nothing. 

"You can stay here, I guess," said Anakin. He watched more. 

Nothing. 

Anakin exhaled heavily. With a last glance at Obi-Wan's prone figure, he took a deep breath, tried to ignore his frantically beating heart, and headed off towards the shadows in a brisk walk. 

He glanced back at Obi-Wan every now and then as he crossed the massive floor, just to see if he had moved. He never did. 

 

* * *

 

Anakin reached the shadows beyond the pillars. Predictably, they were only another wall. 

Only this one was . . . different. It was made of reddish-brown stone with carvings upon carvings that Anakin struggled to make out in the dim light.  _Violent_. Was the word that stood out most prominently in his young mind as he examined them. Figures here and there, holding what could only be lightsabers, and others,  _The Dead_ , he assumed, beneath them. They were nothing more than a twisted mass of insignificance, rendered into nothingness; limbs here and there, features unintelligible. The figures with the lightsabers stood above them, masters of all they beheld. And then, above them, symbols he could only imagine the meaning of. Harsh lines, here and there. He stood for a moment, transfixed, staring up into the blackness as far as he could see.

If only he had a lightsaber. 

He tore his eyes away from the carvings.  _Not a com unit._ He made himself think. 

He walked along the wall, following scenes of sketched slaughter and sketched _glory_ , until he came upon an indent, where the shadows sunk deeper. 

Anakin crept closer. For set into a three feet indent in the wall, was a delicately crafted, small spiral of black onyx, no taller than Anakin was himself. It twisted up, smaller and smaller, until it became no larger than is smallest finger. From its base, a red glow of unseen origin glowed up its length. 

Feeling giddy all of the sudden, Anakin rushed to it. At his approach, the ruby light seemed to grow brighter.

"Obi-Wan!" He called back without thinking across the great hall. His voice echoed, terrifyingly, across the starry floor. 

He continued to hear its echo for some time, and instinctively shrunk back. As the echo of his voice faded out, there was no response, from Obi-Wan, or . . . anything else. He waited a second longer, and then breathed a sigh of relief as nothing happened. He turned back to the mysterious spiral of stone. 

Unsure why, he reached out, and grabbed it. 

Vaguely, from far off, he was aware of his knees hitting the ground. He wanted to let go of the thing. He couldn't

The galaxy spread out behind his eyes. 

 _Help._ Was his last, his only thought. 

The world went dark. 

 

* * *

 

literally no one asked, but check out this /sick/ visual

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the late update. i started a new job and actually had to write this chapter from scratch because the story just NEEDED it idk
> 
> also sorry about the fic name change. the previous one was kind of a joke placeholder until i figured out something better, and then i realized space dementia by muse has kinda been this story's theme song for A While. 
> 
> to everyone who has been commenting/leaving kudos/reading this fic AT ALL-! thank you for taking a chance, i love you all <3


	7. Interlude II: Perihilion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anakin's accidental meddling with a sith artifact sends out an impromptu distress signal through the force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an interlude + chapter update at once! whooo!

 Whatever Anakin had done, something heard. 

 

* * *

_"Incredible . . . quite incredible . . . surprised he's still alive . . . The Force is strong with him . . . To create such a conduit-"_

"Yet, he is untrained and unpredictable. I am not sure I think it  _wise._ "

" _Yes, well, in the meantime_ -"

Obi-Wan heard the voices, the snippets of a conversation, but it meant nothing to him. He wouldn't remember it.

"Indeed. Do keep word of this . . . quiet." 

" _Naturally."_

The world around him was draped in a shadowed haze. He seemed to have forgotten where he was. Only that it was okay to rest, now. Warmth enveloped his mind, and for a little while, he was able to think of nothing at all. 

The sleek solar sailor slid out of hyperspace smoothly enough that Obi-Wan felt nothing. Dooku’s home planet enlarged in the viewport, but Obi-Wan didn’t see it. He clung with every inch of himself to the temporary serenity that he’d found in the passenger’s seat of the ship. He was floating through a blur of stars in the company of a massive, ultra-bright sun, which seemed to only glow brighter the longer he stayed. Columns of fire shot forth from the sun’s surface that he worried might scorch him if he came too close, until suddenly, one of them did.

Dread filled him as a sudden pain shot through his body, and his hard-fought serenity collapsed in on itself, giving way to the tentatively escaped cold, empty void which had so recently replaced anything else he knew he must once have felt.

He slowly become aware again of the duller colors of the interior star skiff, and everything else, including the child on his lap.

“ _Wizard,”_ Anakin was whispering from where he’d crawled over Obi-Wan to press his face against the transparasteel viewport Obi-Wan lay against. Anakin’s side was digging painfully into the bacta covered stump of his arm.

 “Get off,” he muttered. Somewhat disoriented, he grabbed the back of Anakin’s tunic and pulled him off his arm, planting the boy back in his seat.

“But I want to see!” Anakin whispered urgently, bouncing in his seat.

Obi-Wan winced as he leaned himself off the viewport. He rubbed a hand against his eyes. He slid his hand down his face, and looked at Anakin. He'd last been aware of the boy slumped in the seat beside him, half awake and rather delirious. He's been leaning against Obi-Wan's shoulder while a medical droid prodded at them both.

In the span of however long it had taken to get from the Dark Planet to here, Anakin seemed to have made some sort of recovery, and woken up. 

“See _what_?”  He whispered back.

“The _planet_.”

“What?” Obi-Wan turned to look out the viewport, and saw Serenno. “Oh.” He looked back to Anakin. “It’s right there out the window,” he pointed. 

 _“But I can see it better from your seat!”_ Anakin breathed.

“We’re about to land on it, and you can see it all you want,” hissed Obi-Wan, unsure why he was still whispering.

Anakin craned his neck around Obi-Wan, trying to get a better view. His shaggy hair fell into his eyes.

“It’s not the same, though!”

“Just, _be still_.”

Anakin sat back in his seat and crossed his arms, frowning. It occurred to Obi-Wan, as reality continued to return, that it was something of a wonder that the boy was awake at all. It seemed Anakin was operating now on nervous, manic child energy and excitement at the unknown alone. He _couldn’t_ last much longer.

He and Anakin both jumped as the cockpit door hissed open and Dooku’s copilot droid floated into the cabin.

“Gentlemen,” it intoned, “we are preparing to land.”

“Yes!” Whispered Anakin, beginning to leap out of his seat again. Obi-Wan flung out his arm to keep him at bay.

“Please remain seated.” The droid snipped, looking Anakin up and down before spinning around and bobbing back through the door.

“Have you ever been here before?” Anakin said, mindlessly squirming against Obi-Wan’s arm like he would a safetybelt, with no regard to its owner.

Obi-Wan had to think about it.

“No,” he realized, “I haven’t.”

“I’m just glad we got off that _other_ planet.”

The dark shadows of the Sith temple flashed behind Obi-Wan's eyes in a half-remembered haze. He felt ill, suddenly. 

“So am I,” he said. 

He found with his return to consciousness, his head hurt.

“Are there trees here?” Anakin persisted, pushing down on his arm with both hands. Obi-Wan gave up and let him go. He felt dizzy; nauseous. He wanted Anakin to be quiet.

“Yes, a great many, I think.”  The planet took up the entire viewport now. They were nearing the atmosphere. “Serenno is something of a jungle world, from what I’ve heard.”

The boy bounced up in his seat once, craning his head to look out the viewport.

“What’s a jungle?”

“It’s a – a place with lots of vegetation.”

“As much as Naboo?”

“Yes. More.”

Anakin’s eye’s widened, mind trying to fathom how there could possibly be more.

“What about water? Is there-“

“Yes, lots.”

Anakin opened his mouth to ask another question, but Obi-Wan was faster.

“No more questions,” he cut him off, vision going a little blurry, “until we land.” 

 

* * *

 

Anakin barely made it off the ship. He was leaning heavily against Obi-Wan as they stood on the landing pad adjacent to Dooku’s cliff-side palace. Obi-Wan was worried he would knock both of them over if he leaned any harder.

Wrapped in bacta from the moment they’d left The Dark Planet, the cauterized end of his arm felt cool and numb. Better yet, the same sensation had begun to flow up the rest of his limb and into the poisoned, dead muscle. It was in stark contrast to the ever present burning and bone deep ache he had become almost accustomed to. There was a certain giddiness that came with the relief from the pain. He swayed on his feet, still, but felt strength returning to him. _Real_ strength, different than that the ill feeling, burning encompassing energy he'd found as he walked along the jagged dark plain of the other planet, at once both hating it and needing _more-_

“Welcome to Serenno, my young friends,” came a grandiose voice from behind him. Obi-Wan turned, pulling Anakin with him, to see their rescuer stride out of the shuttle, peeling off his black leather gloves and handing them to an attendant droid who hurried to his side.  

Count Dooku stopped in front of the two of them, eyes travelling over their ragged, tired forms.

“A medical shuttle is on the way,” he said, concerned evident in his voice, “I have made arrangements for you both. It is fortuitous our paths have crossed so conveniently.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan croaked, surprised to find his throat so dry. "It was Anakin, he found the . . . beacon." Obi-Wan had never encountered such an object in his life and was unsure what else to call it.  He looked down at the younger boy. Anakin was staring at the trees with wide tired eyes. Obi-Wan took a deep breath. The rest he’d had on the ship, and the clean air of the planet seemed to clear something in his head he had not even noticed was there. The stars sparkled overhead. He could see the sky.

"I see." Dooku smiled. “You are most welcome, Obi-Wan.”

 

* * *

 

A/N: Like literally no one asked again, but right here is some kick-ass Clone Wars concept art by Jackson Sze of Serenno at night for your viewing pleasure. 

 

 


	8. Chapter III: Serenno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yikes: some creepy stuff comin' up

“I think it looks awesome,” said Anakin, poking at the skeletal copper. An unnatural jolt of feeling rushed through it and Obi-Wan jerked it away.

“Oh, sorry.” Anakin drew his hand back, “does it _hurt?”_

“No.” Obi-Wan stared at it. “Sorry. It just feels odd. I wasn’t expecting that.”

 “Oh,” Anakin’s eyes lit up. “I bet I could add like a _laser_ to it. So you could shoot people with it or something.”

“That’s okay, Anakin.” Obi-Wan clenched it closed. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation. He flexed it forward, doing the same with his left hand, holding them both up for comparison. He forced himself to swallow. “I don’t think it works that way.”

As the richest man on Serenno, and as a member of a ruling family, Dooku had access to the highest medical services on the planet, if not in the entire galaxy. Upon landing, he had indeed called in his best healers, droid and sentient, to look over their injuries. They had found a solution for Obi-Wan’s missing limb.

The durasteel extensions serving as his fingers clicked against each other as he rolled them. He wondered what it would feel like to twist one off.

Beside him, Anakin tried to poke at it again. Obi-Wan didn’t stop him, and watched with detached fascination as he felt the contact again send a sensation through the metal and up the rest of his arm.

It would take a bit of getting used to.

“How are you feeling?” He asked Anakin, moving his arm out of reach and pulling up the sleeve of his new tunic over the durasteel as far as he could. His thoughts began to drift towards what had become of his tattered and bloodied Jedi robes. Perhaps this was better, he decided.

Anakin sat on the bed with his small legs crossed in front of him, right next to Obi-Wan’s head. Someone had trimmed the boy’s overlong hair back from his eyes. His dirty makeshift robes from the old Jedi ship were gone, and he had also been given a clean white tunic to wear.

“Better, I guess.” said Anakin. “I’m still supposed to stay here and rest, though.”

Glancing behind the boy, Obi-Wan spied a smaller bed on the other side of the room with its covers askew.

“As you should.”

Anakin flopped on his back next to Obi-Wan with a heavy, nine year old sigh.

“I guess,” he said glumly.

Anakin had been deemed, against all odds, “medically, completely healthy.” The Force, on the other hand, told a different story. He was exhausted. It occurred to Obi-Wan that he should tell the boy to go lay in his own bed, but Anakin looked so comfortable that he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

Using his good hand, he ruffled Anakin’s newly clipped hair.

 “Perhaps when they let us out of here, we can explore the jungles. Such places are very strong with the living Force.”

He felt Anakin’s excitement spike around him, and suddenly wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Really? We can explore them?”

“Well, yes. Later.”

“Okay! That’d be,” he yawned, “so cool.”

To Obi-Wan’s relief, Anakin excitement was overshadowed by how tired he was. He curled on his side, forehead pressing into Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan caught a vison of the swamps of Naboo and the shadows of the forests Anakin had seen glimpses of from the landing pad running through his thoughts. Alongside the images, there was a distinct sense of peace that radiated from the boy.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, losing himself in the surging pulsations of glistening light going through and about him, intermingled with Anakin’s unguarded consciousness, or rather, unconsciousness, that seeped into the Force around him.

Tethered to the light through the small figure beside him, he managed to forget about his arm, forget about it all, and drift into oblivion.

 

* * *

 

 

Obi-Wan spent most of the next day as he was supposed to - in bed, curled around his arm. Anakin would disappear and reappear at his side, but Obi-Wan himself didn’t feel like moving. He tried to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, he had only just managed to doze off when a knock on the door woke him up again.

He pushed himself to his elbows and immediately fell back again as his prosthetic arm flashed too many signals through his limb. He tried again, rolling to his side, and squinted into the unwelcome light as the door cracked open and a shiny protocol droid waddled into the room, holding something it its outstretched arms.

“Good morning, Master Jedi,” it said into the darkness.

“Good morning!” Said Anakin from the floor. Obi-Wan peered down to see him sitting on the carpet, face illuminated by the light of a holopad between his knees.

“I say,” exclaimed the droid, its head angling downward, “good morning!”

“Yes, hello.” Obi-Wan said, voice thick with sleep.

“I have been instructed to bring you breakfast,” the droid said. It waddled further into the room, and bent down towards a nightstand. Obi-Wan realized it was carrying a tray.

“Thanks!” Said Anakin, leaping to his feet and hurrying over to the food.

“My pleasure.” Said the droid. It angled towards Obi-Wan. “My master sends his regards. He wishes to invite you to dinner this evening, if you are feeling . . . _better_.”

“I – um.”

“I shall inform my master you are still feeling unwell-“

“No, no, that’s alright. Tell him I would be happy to. To join him for dinner.”

He supposed he would have to leave this room eventually.

“Of course, sir,” said the droid. “In the meantime, some new clothes have been delivered for you and your young companion.”

“Me?” Anakin said around a piece of food in his mouth.

“Indeed.”

“That is very courteous. Please send your master our thanks,” said Obi-Wan

“Certainly. I will inform him you have accepted his invitation.”

 “Er-yes.”

“Thank you!” Anakin told the droid.

As the droid waddled back out, Obi-Wan waved his hand and activated the light. It faded on slowly, illuminating the small guest room in soft yellow light.

“You’ve been asleep for ages.” Anakin told him, plopping back down on the floor with a bowl full of something resembling porridge.

Obi-Wan looked at his own bowl, sitting despondent on the night stand. He didn’t really want it.

“It appears you haven’t been.”

Anakin shrugged.

The sat in silence for a bit. Obi-Wan eyed his bowl of food again, and opted to just leave it. Anakin would probably eat it. He forced himself to stand, and noticed two piles of folded clothes sitting on Anakin’s bed.

He moved to the bed and unfolded the larger pile, eyeing the clothes. Beneath the fingers of his flesh hand, the fabric felt soft and expensive. Durable. It was made up blacks and dark browns.

So much for his Jedi robes, he thought.  

“Can we go see the jungles?” Anakin asked from the floor.

Something in his chest clenched, and he suddenly very much wanted to be alone.

“Later, Anakin.”

“Oh. Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

‘Dinner,’ was held in Dooku’s private wing of the palace. Obi-Wan followed one of the Count’s attendants, an RA-7 protocol droid who had introduced itself as _AP-9,_ and hadn't said much else, to the Count’s study, through winding empty halls.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a darkened window, and hardly recognized himself. The new clothes he wore were stiff and uncomfortable. Regal, almost, in a way he would never dream of dressing on his own. Jedi garb was much less, well, _severe_ , was the only way to put it. He looked like some sort of -– 

He shook his head. The palace was too quiet. Traitorously, in regards to the man who had saved his life, Obi-Wan wondered how someone could live in such a desolate place.

He cut _that_ line of thought off as the attendant came to a stop in front of a set of wooden double doors inlaid with elaborate patterns of black iron. He felt absurdly as if he matched them; as if Dooku's taste in decor ran parallel to his preferred style of clothing, or something. Then, the doors creaked open of their own accord. With a nod, the attendant left Obi-Wan on his own.

The room beyond was cavernous and dim. As Obi-Wan stepped through the doors, the ceiling stretched high above his head, much of it draped in shadow. Shelves of datapads spanned the entire wall to his right. To his left, a huge fireplace was set into the wall, its depths ablaze with a roaring fire. It was the only source of light in the room. A large, unlit chandelier hung in the center of the high ceiling. The firelight glittered off shiny metal, and cast long, finger-like shadows across Obi-Wan as he ventured further in, footfalls silenced by the dark carpet under his feet. There were leather couches scattered here and there, and a huge desk in the corner.

A few meters away from the fireplace, sat in the middle of the room, was a long, elaborately carved table. It looked awkward and out of place in the dark study. It already held an array of dishes.  

It was all a bit much, Obi-Wan thought. He was itching to turn around then, and escape back into the stark confines of his small guest room. It wasn’t just personal discomfort, although it played a large part. Something in the Force felt _off_.

However, feeling the pressure of formality, coupled with genuine gratitude at this man for saving his life, he forced himself onward.

 On the opposite side of the room, visible through two large windows, Serenno’s double moons hung low and large in the sky, reflected far below in the lake at the base of the cliff. At the edge of the leftmost window stood Dooku, surveying something in the forest landscape below him.

He turned as Obi-Wan approached.

“Welcome,” he said, rich voice carrying across the expanse of the floor. He waved a hand, and the chair closest to Obi-Wan moved back from the table.

“Please, sit.”

The chair was made out of the same wood as the table. It looked freshly furnished, but something about it gave it the impression of being very old and neglected. Obi-Wan imagined it sitting in an abandoned room somewhere collecting dust, only to be brought out for just this occasion and cleaned; coated with shiny varnish to hide the smell of rot.

“Thank you,” he said, and sat.

Dooku, sweeping his black cloak aside in a very dignified manner, took his seat at the other end of the table.

“I am pleased you could make it. My cooks only just delivered the food,” he gestured to the table.

Obi-Wan realized the covered dishes arranged in the center of the table must contain their dinner.

“I hope I’m not late.”

“Oh, not at all,” Dooku reached for a bottle on his end of the table, bringing it up to his empty glass, “You arrived quite on time, I assure you. I generally dine alone while I am here on Serenno. I am pleased to have your company.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Obi-Wan tried to smile.

Dooku observed him from underneath his eyebrows as he finished pouring himself a glass of something dark and red.

“Please, my friend, don’t look so uncomfortable. I realize the Jedi lifestyle must leave you unaccustomed to all this,” he waved a hand, indicating the room around them, “but I only offer the best to my honored guests.”

Obi-Wan hadn’t realized how straight he’d been sitting in his chair. He tried to relax.

“That’s very kind of you,” he said.

“I must confess,” the man confided in him, probably catching this gist of Obi-Wan’s thoughts from across the table, “sometimes I do find it all a bit – _garish_ , but what can one do?”

“Er, indeed.”

Dooku side-eyed him again.

“Please, eat, young Jedi.” He swept a hand over the table. The silver lids covering the dishes on the table floated as one into the air, landing on the table next to their counterparts, “we have much to discuss.”

But their meal began in silence. The shadows of the room seemed to creep around Obi-Wan in a way that unnerved him more than he thought they should. Something still seemed off.

The food was too rich. He found he could only eat a little.

“You are feeling better, I trust?” Dooku asked, after Obi-Wan sat down his fork. “How is your arm?”

The sick feeling he’d managed to ignore for most of the day rushed back to him at the reminder. Reluctantly, he held his hand up from where’d he carefully kept it in his lap since sitting down. He observed the gleaming metal.

“Well, it’s . . . yes, it’s better.”

“I think you’ll find it’s hardly indistinguishable. My healers assured me, you will have full use of your arm.”

Obi-Wan found his appetite, which had been scare to begin with, now gone entirely.

“Yes, they did an excellent job,” he placed the metal contraption back out of sight, “I cannot thank you enough for your generosity.”

“Please, think nothing of it. We are something of relations, are we not? Consider it a gift.”

Relations. Because . . .

Something twisted inside him.

“Yes, I – I suppose. Thank you.”

Suddenly needing something to do with his hands, he eyed the wine on the table for a moment, and decided against it. To his relief, he noticed a pot of tea next to it, and reached for it instead.

As he poured it, the fragrant scent hit him before he had a chance to prepare for it.

It was the same blend Qui-Gon always drank.

Through a wave of stinging nostalgia, Dooku’s voice floated across the table.

“Are the refreshments not to your liking, Obi-Wan?”

“No,” Obi-Wan realized he’d been staring at the tea. He looked up quickly, “no, everything is fine. Thank you.”

Dooku was still watching him.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan continued, lamely. He tried to find the words to explain himself through the sudden onslaught of grief that ripped through him.

A small smile appeared on the older man’s face.

 “Obi-Wan, there is no need to apologize. You’ve been through a great ordeal.” His dulcet tone held a distinct note of sympathy. “You are lucky to be alive.”

“I-” he said again, cursing his inability to string together a coherent sentence.

Dooku sat down his fork.

“I sense there is something troubling you.” He said. “Do not fear speaking openly with me. Remember, I-”

 He paused, as if overcome with emotion.

“- Qui-Gon,” he continued lowly, “was like a son to me. When the news of his death reached me. . .” he shook his head, “I find myself wishing I had not spent these last few years so distant from him. He was a great man.”

The words came out before Obi-Wan could stop them.

“I shouldn’t . . . _miss him_ like this. Attachment, I-” he trailed off, unable to find the words to express his failure. Dooku was a Jedi, once. He would understand.

“It is only natural, Obi-Wan,” Dooku admonished, “do not become frustrated at yourself for these emotions. You have suffered a great loss.” 

“I wanted to kill him,” he whispered, “The assassin. I wanted to-” _rip him to pieces._

“I must admit,” Dooku said heavily, “upon hearing the news, I found myself wishing the same thing. Sometimes,” shook his head, “it is all we can do.”

“But I shouldn’t,” Obi-Wan said, feeling despair at his own inadequacy, his own _stupidity_ , rise in his throat, “it’s not the Jedi way.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Dooku said thoughtfully, “but I have had much more time to think about this sort of thing. Sometimes, I believe the Jedi ask too much of us. Master Yoda has seen countless friends and colleagues die over his 800 years. He has become quite calloused to the idea of loss. It is unlikely he could possibly understand.”

Obi-Wan looked at his plate, eyes burning. He didn’t want to agree with the man, but he couldn’t deny that Dooku’s words echoed his very thoughts. None of them _understood_. . .

“But I do, Obi-Wan. I loved Qui-Gon. It seems an insult to his memory to deny our feelings, does it not?”

“I – I don’t know.”

“It’s quite alright,” said Dooku, “we can speak of it later. For now please,” he gestured at the cup in front of Obi-Wan, “drink.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Obi-Wan decided to stay on Serenno another night. It wasn’t as if it was entirely his choice. The healers had told him he needed rest. Resting in the cabin of a starship just wasn’t the same.

In truth, it was. When he let himself think it, Obi-Wan knew that he was actually just putting off going back. He wasn’t ready to face the rest of them, yet. The circle of disappointed faces telling him _perhaps it was wrong to train you after all_ . . .

Here, in the bright sunlight of Serenno, reality, as it was, had caught up to him. His memories of The Dark Planet were mostly a haze, but he remembered what he’d done, in the end. What he’d decided to do. The man storming out of a meeting, who had spat in the face of the council and gone to track down the murderer on his own, who stood in the cave with a red blade burning in his hand, feeling the intoxicating rush of _power_ as he held the black temple in his gaze - seemed far removed from him now, as he sat on the floor of an open air balcony overlooking Serenno’s vast jungle from the cliff-side palace. But the knowledge of what he’d started to do did not.  

The Force was strong on this planet, and he expected it to soothe him, instead, dark tendrils of thought snuck in here and there, penetrating the comforting light he’d gathered desperately about him. He wondered what they’d do to him, when he returned. Forbid him to take his trials, probably. Hadn’t Yoda said something about that when he’d left? Then they would send him to the Agricorps, after all. Or he would be expelled, surely. And then what? He tried not to think about it for long.

There was also Anakin.

Despite his manic energy on the ship, Anakin had mostly slept since landing on Serenno. The extreme Force usage he’d been pushed into during their last few hours on the dark planet left the boy drained of everything. He was the one who truly needed rest, after singlehandedly saving them both.

Upon his return to Couruscant, Obi-Wan would be expected to drop the boy off at Naboo, with Queen Amidala.

A bitter flash of anger went through him. Anakin, he knew, was destined for far greater things than the life of a mechanic on swamp planet, or to be used as some soulless politician’s sympathy ploy. Obi-Wan wouldn’t let them have him.

He cut that line of thought off, suddenly, surprised at himself.

Perhaps, he tried to reason, if the Jedi wouldn’t take him back, they would at least take Anakin.

 

* * *

 

That night, Dooku invited him to dinner again.

The room was exactly the same as before, although the table seemed slightly closer to the fireplace. The fire, tonight, was burning lower than it had been yesterday. It was still the only source of light in the room.

Obi-Wan felt slightly more at ease today, becoming familiar with his surroundings as he was.

And they didn’t speak of Qui-Gon. Rather, Dooku asked about Anakin.  

“I don’t want to take him back there, to that sort of life,” Obi-Wan found himself explaining. He hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed someone to explain _to_. “The connection he has with the force, I’ve never felt anything like it. He’s very talented, and very compassionate, beyond his years. I admit I didn’t see it at first but he’s, well he’s extraordinary. He would be an excellent Jedi, I am sure of it.”

“Interesting,” Dooku drawled.

“He deserves better.”

“Better than a life of royalty?”

“It would deprive him of the training he deserves. And – these politicians, they don’t care about him. They could never understand him.”

Well, perhaps Padme Amidala cared for him. But she was different from the rest of them. And even _then_ , she was still a politician. And it didn’t matter. She wasn’t the one who wanted Anakin.

He felt frustrated again.

“The wealthy and powerful dignitary who adopted a slave boy,” he continued, unable to keep the disdainful sarcasm out of his voice as he thought of Palpatine. “It would be a ploy for votes. An appeal to compassion. Anakin deserves better.”

Dooku raised his eyebrows, amused.

“I wasn’t aware the current Chancellor of the Republic was in need of any votes.”

“He isn’t, yet.”

“Obi-Wan,” Dooku smiled sagely at him, “have you always held our elected leaders in such a cynical light?”

Obi-Wan stabbed his fork into a piece of meat he had yet to identify.  

“I simply find them untrustworthy.”

Dooku’s expression became serious.

“And once again,” he sat his glass down, “we find ourselves on common ground. I’ve always found the senate rife with corruption.”

“Indeed.” Obi-Wan took a bite of his food.

“Have you considered,” Dooku stared at him evenly, “that the Chancellor may actually have the boy’s best interests at heart?”

Obi-Wan met his stare. He smiled ruefully. 

“Not at all.”

Dooku’s expression didn’t change.

“I see.”

He sounded, Obi-Wan thought, somewhat put-out. Obi-Wan wondered if he admired Palpatine. He looked back down at his plate quickly, sensing something like annoyance from Dooku’s end of the table, and schooled his expression to seriousness once more.

“You know,” he sat down his fork, “Qui-Gon promised to train him, with or without the council’s approval.” He tried not to think of their tense disagreement back on Coruscant. “He believed Anakin was the boy from the prophecy. The ‘chosen one.’”

Dooku picked up his glass to refill it.

“And do you?”

Obi-Wan paused. For a moment he found it hard to speak because . . . because it wasn't as if he had much of a right to believe anything, anymore, after what he'd done. But -

“I’m beginning to,” he said anyway. 

“It appears the Jedi council does not agree,” Dooku said evenly, swirling his glass. 

“No, they don’t.” He stopped himself before asking the question weighing on his mind, afraid of the answer, afraid he'd forfeited his right to ask it. But he longed to hear the answer anyway.

“What do you think?”

Dooku considered this for a moment.

“It is difficult to say,” he settled on at last. “Clearly, the boy has promise. Yet, I have never placed much credence in ancient superstitions, like this _prophecy_.”

The next question was ripped from him before he could stop it by some desperate impulse he couldn't control. He regretted it immediately, because of course, _of course_ not . . . not _now_ . . .

“Do you think I could convince them? To accept Anakin?”   

Dooku smiled slightly, eyes on his drink, and Obi-wan felt his chest twist itself into knots.  

“The boy is nearly 10 years old, Obi-Wan,” he said. “Don’t be absurd.”

 

* * *

 

As he'd promised, Obi-Wan took Anakin to the jungle the next day, sometime after a half-heatedly eaten lunch. He trailed behind the boy, down a dirt trail that led off from the palace as Anakin ran ahead. 

"Look at this!" He called from some distance away, pointing at a nest of brightly-colored foliage. "Have you ever  _seen_ this many-" he prattled on about the trees, and the plants, and the water, and the birds, and - 

Obi-Wan tried to find it in him to smile, at least, at Anakin's excitement. It was difficult. 

"Wow," Anakin said, in regards to a particularly tall and leafy tree, covered in vines. The Force seemed to sing around it, and for a moment everything seemed all right. They both stopped before it to stare. 

"I wish mom could see this," Anakin said then, craning his neck to look at the tallest branches. 

Obi-Wan glanced away from the tree at Anakin. The boy was staring at the tree in frank amazement, and the sunlight filtering through the leafy branches shone in his blond hair, making it almost appear golden. 

He looked away very quickly. 

 _"The boy is nearly 10 years old, Obi-Wan."_ Dooku's voice from the night before. _"Don't be absurd."_

 

* * *

 

“Tell me about this _assassin_ ,” Dooku said the third night. “This murderer you were tracking.”

Obi-Wan’s hand stilled above his soup.

 _I’d rather not,_ he almost said.

“The . . . Zabrak,” he said instead.

“Yes, the _Zabrak_ ,” he said the word in a slow draw. “How typical. I have always found the entire species to be quite . . . distasteful.”

“We learned his name from the leaders of the trade federation,” Obi-Wan said numbly. “Darth Maul.”

He realized with a stab that this was the first time he’d ever said the name aloud. Unbidden, the snarling face of the monster returned to the forefront of his mind. On the Dark Planet, he’d been little more than an elusive shadow. And before that, in the muddy caves beneath Theed, a twisted contamination in the eddies of The Force. And then, before that . . .

Obi-Wan tried to reach into The Force, willing it to sooth the panic that rose up his throat and into his mouth.

His arm ached, suddenly.

Across the table, the firelight cast Dooku’s face in heavy shadow

“You fought bravely, Obi-Wan. You did as best you could.”

“But I – _I didn’t_.” Obi-Wan looked down at the grotesque mechanical skeleton sticking out of his arm - a reminder. “I couldn’t kill him. He just- he was too powerful.”

“Do not think this is any fault of yours. Your training could not have possibly prepared you to face such an adversary.”

“No,” said Obi-Wan, and the panic in his throat froze over with dread. “You don’t understand.”

“Obi-Wan,” Dooku frowned, paternally, “I thought we had established that _I do_.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help himself; he laughed humorlessly. Dooku was a _Jedi Master_.

“I very much doubt that,” he said miserably. The truth gnawed at his insides like a hungry bloodwolf.

“You may find yourself surprised.” Dooku said lightly. “Remember, I am not the Jedi council.” He gave Obi-Wan a wry smile. “You have nothing to fear from me,”

And it suddenly fell into place that he _knew._

“Please,” Dooku continued kindly, “tell me everything.”

Obi-Wan’s soup had gone cold, he realized.

“I’m not sure I remember all of it,” he said, trying to distance himself from the sound of his own voice.

“That is quite all right,” Dooku’s voice was gentle. “Try starting at the beginning.”

And so, after months alone in space with nothing but the ragged hole in his chest for company, with no one to speak with, no one who would _understand_ , Obi-Wan suddenly found himself telling Dooku everything. The whole story. The council forbidding him to go after the creature, defying their wishes and going off on his own, The Dark Planet, the duel, how _angry_ he’d been, the destruction of Qui-Gon’s weapon and his final solution to it all.

“I constructed a lightsaber, like his,” he said, feeling as if her were pronouncing his own death sentence, sure a Jedi Master would be appalled by such a casual foray into darkness. “I thought, if I could learn to fight as he did, if I could – if I could wield the same _power_ , I would be able to bring him down. I was too weak, before. If I didn’t learn how he was doing it . . . there’s so little I know about the Dark Side. How could I ever hope to fight it?”

He’d intended it all as a confession; an apology. He expected Dooku to reprimand him next. Give him a better solution, tell him how wrong he’d been about all of this and how he should _fix_ it.

“A most courageous approach, my friend,” Dooku said when he’d finished. “You are correct, of course.”

Obi-Wan stared at him.

At his expression, Dooku smiled lightly.

“The Sith are an enemy the Jedi Order has not faced for thousands of years. It stands to reason that our current standards of training would be no match for a warrior trained in their arts.” The weight of his years and experience behind his voice gave it gravitas well beyond any of Obi-Wan’s grief-stricken thoughts, however similar they were.  “Particularly one,” Dooku continued, “like this _Darth Maul_ , who has had years to grow, in secret. There can be no doubt the Sith have multiplied their powers over these millennia.” He raised a thoughtful eyebrow, “How unfortunate the Jedi were so unprepared to deal with their return.”

Inclining his head across the table at the younger man, Dooku continued, “Do not for a moment think you are wrong in your approach to this, Obi-Wan. In order to defeat such an enemy, one must first understand him.”

At Dooku’s words, Obi-Wan felt a sick, tired weight leave his heart. Its absence left him breathless.

And yet.

“But it isn’t right,” he continued, the relief he felt not quite enough to erase the guilt of what he’d begun to do.  “The Dark Side of The Force is . . . well, it’s _evil_.”

“So you’ve been taught.”

“Because it’s _true_. I should never have – I,” His speech faltered again. Dooku held up a hand to silence him.

“I assure you, Obi-Wan, you did the right thing.” He paused, considering the younger man for a moment. “I suppose you are old enough now to understand,” he mused, “You see, there was a popular idea amongst several of my colleagues in the order, before my departure. The Dark Side is not a danger if you do not _fear_ it.”

Obi-Wan blinked.

“What?”

“Why, Master Windu himself shares this theory. His personal lightsaber form encourages opening oneself to The Dark. It wasn’t, of course, something we elected to teach younglings. Or Padawans.” He smiled at Obi-Wan. “But you seem to have stumbled upon this truth yourself. My congratulations.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“That’s – that doesn’t sound-”

“Perhaps this sort of thinking _is_ beyond your training, at present.” Dooku said regretfully. “I apologize. I forget philosophical theories of experienced Jedi masters are hardly the sorts of things fit to discuss with someone who is still a learner. I don’t mean to distort your view of myself, or the upper branches of The Order.”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – it’s only, I’ve never heard that before.”

“I am not surprised. As I said before, it isn’t something to be trifled with so young.”

Obi-Wan looked at his plate.

“Yes, I understand.” He glanced up, careful not to sound too eager. “But I am curious to hear this . . . theory.”

Dooku gave him a small smile.

“And I would be more than happy to share it with you.” He sat comfortably back in his chair, taking a careful sip of his drink. He paused before beginning, gathering his thoughts.

“We came to theorize,” he began, “that the fear of the Dark Side many Jedi harbor leads to a very particular weakness. One easily exploitable by the Sith.”

Obi-Wan waited for him to continue. “Yes?”

 “You see, Obi-Wan, to fear something is to give it _power_.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, by fearing the Dark Side, we are giving those who use it exactly what they want. _Power_ ,” Dooku went on. “We attempt to understand The Force, Obi-Wan. Who are we to define it? It could even be said the Jedi feed the Dark Side of the Force its strength through their fear. They give it a name, they define it by their very existence. They themselves create it through their opposition to its very nature.”

Obi-Wan was confused.

Dooku paused, studying Obi-Wan.

“I can see I have confused you.”

“What you’re saying,” Obi-Wan said slowly, “is that there _is_ no Dark Side of The Force?”

A small smiled graced Dooku’s features.

“Precisely. There is simply the Force, and those who use it.”

“That – that doesn’t seem-”

“Of course it is only a theory.” Dooku overrode him quickly. “One that states perhaps it is the individual who defines The Force, not The Force who defines the individual.”

It sounded like something a Sith would say, Obi-Wan thought. But it was Dooku, and apparently a group of his fellow Jedi Maters, so, perhaps . . .

“And so,” Dooku went on, “it stands to reason, with this theory in mind, that The Force could be used however one desires. Through serenity, or through passion, as long as one’s intentions were, shall we say, _good_.”

“But,” said Obi-Wan, “who defines _good_.”

“And there,” said Dooku, “you have stumbled upon the crux of the problem,” he rubbed a hand thoughtfully across his beard. “Who, indeed?”

“The Jedi,” Obi-Wan said automatically.

“Do you think so?” Dooku raised an eyebrow, “the Jedi, who would return a child to a life of slavery in the outer rim. The Jedi, who are bound to protect and serve a corrupt system of government to _whatever_ end?”

Obi-Wan couldn’t stop the scowl that crept across his face. He averted his gaze.

“ _The Jedi_ ,” Dooku continued, ignoring Obi-Wan’s change in demeanor, “whose council is as stagnant and corrupt as the governing body it serves?”

“I can’t agree,” Obi-Wan cut in.

“Naturally. Please understand that I am not advocating for use of the Dark Side. I simply seek understanding. A certain knowledge, if you would.”

“And have you found it?” He couldn’t help but ask.

A pause.

“It is difficult to say.”

When Obi-Wan opened his mouth to ask another question, Dooku cut him off.

“But it is late, Obi-Wan. I’m afraid I have urgent matters to attend to this evening.” He made to stand. “You will stay another night, won’t you? I fear you are still in great need of rest.”

“Yes,” Said Obi-Wan. “Of course.”

Dooku smiled. “Excellent. Do join me next evening.”

Obi-Wan stood along with his host.

“It would be my pleasure, Count.”

 

* * *

 

That night, Obi-Wan lay awake, his head still swimming with questions. And with something else. Perhaps, he thought, Dooku was right.

_Through serenity, or through passion, as long as one’s intentions were good . . ._

Whichever method best suited the individual, Dooku’s theory seemed to suggest. Whichever worked the _best_ . . .

If he had only opened himself up to _passion_ a bit more . . .  He felt he had merely skimmed the surface of a pool of limitless . . . potential. He knew the power to defeat the assassin was there, just out of his reach. He could _feel_ it.

If only he could access it. With enough to practice, with the right teacher – he could learn enough. Just enough to complete his mission and rid the galaxy of the Sith, once and for all. And _kill_ the thing that had killed his master.

 _I could do this_ , he thought. It was there, within the reach of his arm. The real possibility of justice seemed to stare at him from the shadows of his ceiling, and it was smiling.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, the bone-deep tiredness that had plagued Obi-Wan in the days since his rescue seemed to leave him, and he found he couldn’t sleep as late as he had before.

He needed to get out of here.

Afraid of being in the quiet with his own thoughts, he left the compound without a word to anyone, and wandered off the path into the dense jungle. He didn’t take Anakin with him.

He had no clear idea where he was going. But the longer he prodded his way through the thorny underbrush and the harder he focused in the Force to keep the stinging, blood-thirsty insects away from his skin, the less the felt, and the less he could think.

Eventually, it was all too much, and his awareness of everything around him was pulled inward, until all he could think on was the thorny landscape of his own mistakes.

 _Let them chew me to pieces_. He thought, as the sharp sting of a bloodfly on his neck pierced its way through the haze around his mind. He found he hardly cared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> young obi-wan's angst gives me life


End file.
